


No Safe Harbour

by SkadiLaughedFirst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Violence, Drug Use, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized racism, Loki (Marvel)'s Lips Sewn Shut, Loki (Marvel)'s Punishments, Loki Whump, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, Loki makes bad life choices, Loki-centric, Non-Sexual Submission, Odin's A+ Parenting, Poor Loki, Torture, dark!odin, hella plot, seriously this man's suffering gives me life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12732855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkadiLaughedFirst/pseuds/SkadiLaughedFirst
Summary: Loki Silver has a dark present and a darker past. Trapped between his loyalties to a ruthless gangster and the cop who’ll stop at nothing to bring him down, Loki survives in the seedy underbelly of a city bracing for Hurricane Justice. But a single bloody night unearths secrets he had thought forgotten, and there’s no telling who will survive the brewing storm.





	1. A Low-Key Lyesmith

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there. Long-time reader, first-time writer over here. I love comments and criticism, and I'll be updating on Tuesdays. Fair warning - I'm not kidding about those blood and gore tags. First chapter is a pretty good indicator of how the rest of this fic will go. Also - not a ton of sex going on. 
> 
> This one's for the folks who want to see Loki suffer and want a solid plot to put him there. Enjoy!

The wind howled over the bluffs, rattling the chain link fence and stirring up the sea below. A salt-rusted sign reading Fortuna Textiles in faded print banged against the gate. Gusts of sea air whistled through the cracks of the factory’s great steel doors and blew chaos into the thousand rows of threads and spindles that climbed the walls. The rusty tin roof clanged and threatened to blow straight off, and yet Rumlow could still hear the man’s voice rustling over the din.

“Don’t be a fool,” the silky voice sighed. “This can be over very quickly.” 

“I told you, I don’t know!” Rumlow’s frantic reply was muffled by the thick black sack over his head. It clung to his nose and lips as he panted and strained against his bonds. “I don’t know!” 

The voice laughed. “Alright. I’ll play.” Long, lazy steps echoed on the cracked cement floor. They circled Rumlow and came to a stop just behind him. He could feel the hot, dry breath on his neck and hear the man’s smile in his words. “Odin was expecting ten kilos of iduna. Three kilos are missing – the three you were supposed to deliver. Tell me, are you skinheads so stupid you would steal from the Allfather?”

“No!” Again, that chilling laughter burst out around him. Under the bag, Rumlow’s head swerved from side to side in a desperate attempt to see the laughing man. Instead, he heard the hiss of a long, sharp knife.

“Lies do not suit you, my friend. And I am not a patient man. Once more, where are they?”

The voice faded away and Rumlow was left with only the sound of his ragged breaths for company. Suddenly out of the silence came a blinding, searing pain in his left hand. He cried out and jerked against the ropes, only to feel the knife twist. Metal ground against bone and blood flowed as Rumlow slammed his head back against the newly-risen laughter. 

“Let’s try and make this a little more exciting.” Rumlow could hear the man pacing. He flinched away at the touch of the blade to his knee. “For each minute you are silent, I will make you scream for the next two.” The pacing stopped and Rumlow heard a cracking, winding sound. A gloved hand reached under Rumlow’s right, and he felt the cold metal of a watch press into his palm. It ticked steadily, and he twitched as each second struck. 

“Where are the drugs, Brock?” The man started walking again, cleaning his knife as he went. Rumlow could hear the blade whisper against the man’s sleeve. His hand was throbbing, the mangled bones crunching against each other with each shuddered breath. Beneath his good thumb, Rumlow felt the minute hand twitch into place. The realization hit him. He was a dead man.

“Nothing? Lucky me, I suppose.” This time there was no blade. His only warning was the soft pop of a jar lid twisting off and the sluggish slosh of the fluid within. Then the lye spilled onto the soft skin of his throat, and Rumlow screamed. He writhed as the heat spread up his jaw and the burn sunk deep beneath his skin. It felt as though it could melt right through to his spine. His captor grabbed the bag and tilted his head roughly, exposing the bubbling wound. The smell of vinegar filled the air and after only a few drops the agony faded to the dull ache of abused flesh.

“Pierce’ll skin you alive for this,” Rumlow cursed hoarsely, but the man seemed unperturbed. If anything, the voice now sounded curious.

“Pierce? I’m impressed,” he chuckled. “I did wonder who would take over after they got Red Skull. Messy work, that. But what else would you expect from pigs? Not that it matters much to you, of course.” Rumlow heard the watch’s hands click back into place. “One minute, Brock. Now, perhaps you can be reasonable?”

The man had not let go of the bag. Faced with obstinate silence, he adjusted his grip and craned Rumlow’s head back. One hand held him in place while the other raised the jar of lye. A few drops fell against the sack and Rumlow stiffened. Pinpricks of light burned through the cloth where they had landed, inches from his eyes. 

“Think for a moment, my friend. What do you gain by keeping this secret? I already know that you know. The Allfather knows what you did. We all know. And all I want, my friend, is to return to the Allfather that which is rightfully his. Did you perhaps sell it already? Is there a friend you are trying to protect? If so, start talking, because,” the man pinched the sack tight around Rumlow’s neck, the fabric cutting into the blistering burn. Brock whimpered. “Listen to me. Because no friend will protect you like this. Think of your sweet Freya. Seeing her tomorrow morning, her beautiful face. She must be worried about you, my friend. Don’t let her worry. Tell me what I want to know, and you’ll see her in the morning. Otherwise…”

The last ticks of the minute seemed to Rumlow to boom throughout the whole room, pounding against the walls and bouncing back to beat against him. 

“Another minute gone.” He almost sounded gleeful. Rumlow heard the jar tilt and a thin chemical stream struck his cheek. He bucked and reeled away from the pain. Half of his face was ablaze, down to the bone, and the tears that now flowed freely only seemed to stoke the blaze.

“Clint Barton!” he screamed. “I sold five grams to a guy called Clint Barton. The rest’s still at my place in the box with the money under the sink please stop hurting me! Please! Make it stop!” The pain faded as the man doused the sack in vinegar. It stuck to Rumlow’s face, stinging his eyes, and he sobbed with relief. The voice spoke again, still smooth but with a deadly focus. 

“Clint Barton, you said? And where did you find Mr. Barton, my friend?”

“He found me. He paid me $2,000 to keep my mouth shut. Said he knew a guy – a cop – who’d wipe my record if I gave him something on Borson. Said he’d help me… I can you give you his name, tell you where to find him, anything!” As Rumlow tripped over his confession, the man circled around behind him. “Please, I never meant to disrespect the Allfather. I never…It’ll never happen again, sir, please. I…I want see my girl again, like you said. Please…”

In a single fluid stroke, the knife slit Rumlow’s throat. Loki stepped back with a satisfied smirk. Under seven minutes of work. It was a new record. And yet the satisfaction did not last. As he untied the body, something too much like guilt curdled in his belly. Not for Rumlow – if Loki hadn’t got him, one of his Hydra cronies would probably have gutted him over a spilled drink before the week was out. A chill ran through his bones. It had nothing to do with the wind. He wrapped Rumlow in a tarp and pried off his gloves. Rough fingers caught on the skin of the fresh scar on his left hand. Looking at it almost made him laugh. Even at the end, Farbauti couldn’t leave him in peace. A scar was a scar; like all the others it would heal. But he couldn’t look at it without seeing the blood in the snow. He doubted very much that memories healed. At least not without a sizeable dose of iduna. 

Loki’s head snapped up at the sound of gravel scraping as a small black car with a dented fender sputtered up the factory drive. A short woman of perhaps fifty years hopped out and bustled onto the factory floor, slamming the heavy doors shut against the storm outside. She flicked on the lights and set the spindles spinning before heading over to a small bank of fold out tables. She sat behind a stack of newly sewn jackets piled nearly twice her height. Her dark eyes shone in the halogen glow as she threaded a needle and plucked out a coat whose seams had yet to be stitched. Then she stopped and sniffed the air.

“Loki?” she barked. Sheepishly, he stepped out of the shadows.

“Hello, Urdr.”

“What are you still doing here? The morning shift will be in soon and I’m not explaining another corpse to my girls.”

“Not to worry,” Loki assured her. “I was just leaving.”

“Hm,” Urdr harrumphed, turning back to her stitching. “Leave the lye before you go,” she added dismissively. “I’ll need it to take out the stains.” She plucked the jacket open and slid a tightly packed bag of light gold powder behind the lining. Loki’s eyes gleamed as he set his jar down beside her. His hand lingered a breath too long by the packet of iduna. Urdr stabbed her needle in, exasperated.

“Out!” she snapped at him. “Or should I tell the Allfather you gave me trouble?” Turning pale, Loki shook his head. Urdr had a tailor’s hands, with a hundred nicks and needle scars. Her other scars were older, but no more faded than the history of blood and bullets that had wrote them. Loki bent to grab the corner of the tarp and tugged Rumlow out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste. 

Outside, he hoisted the body into the bed of his truck and drove off without sparing a backward glance. Knowing the Allfather, he’d likely be back here within the week. When he reached the cliffs, Loki rolled the tarp over the edge and into the hungry water. Poor Rumlow would wash up in the north harbour by mid-morning. As the tarp disappeared under the dark waves Loki lit up a cigarette and took in the view of the city below, all a-glow in the night. Safe Harbour, Florida. Odin’s city, where nothing moved and no one breathed without the Allfather’s say-so. Loki saw to that.


	2. A Frosty Reception

The Borson family home was a sprawling palace of white and gold, just on the outskirts of Safe Harbour. The driveway was jam packed with cars while the sprawling back lawn and private beach beyond it were crowded with lively guests. Champagne and stronger liquors flowed freely in celebration of Baldr Borson’s 30th birthday while in the front yard, two hulking men in dark suits and sunglasses patrolled up and down the property, quick to chase away any onlookers who loitered for too long. In the seaside pavilion where the family sat, Odin Borson clinked a knife against his champagne glass and the chatter abruptly faded into a respectful silence.

“Before I say anything else, I want to thank you all for being here with us today to share in our happiness. Today my eldest son is the same age I was when I joined the ranks of the Einherjar. At 30, I was a nobody – nothing to my name but a rifle. Even at nearly twice 30, all I had was a green card and a dream of America's greatest shipping and handling empire. At 30, my Baldr is an educated man, a college graduate, and practically runs my great empire.” The crowd laughed and Baldr, seated at his father’s right hand, shrugged easily. Odin smiled a rare, warm smile that reached his single twinkling eye.

“I cannot wait to see what the next year will bring him, but I have some idea. Baldr,” Odin faked a feeble cough. “All those years are starting to weigh down on your poor, old father. I’m not sure I have another year of shipping and handling in me. At least, not without a fine co-president.” 

The crowd whooped and toasted as Baldr stood to shake his father’s outstretched hand, and Odin embraced his son. “Hail Odin! Hail Baldr! To Borson and Sons Shipping and Handling!”

Loudest of all cheered Thor, Baldr’s little brother. Instead of his usual dress uniform, Thor sported a rumpled suit and instead of champagne he toasted with a glass of strong topali. As the toasts came to an end and the crowd returned to its usual chatter, Odin turned to his younger son. 

“Thor, be a good host and keep the crowd happy. Baldr and I have some business. And for my sake, try not to get too drunk.” Thor nodded as soberly as he could and staggered up out of the pavilion. With a click of her heels Sif strode up beside him and hooked her arm in his. 

“Are we going to have a problem today, love?” she hissed through her smile as she guided him down the stairs. Thor chuckled and his vision blurred. “No more than usual,” he beamed. “As long as I don’t have to listen to Baldr gloat or your mother complain that you haven’t given her any grandkids yet. Yeah. It’ll be a fun afternoon.” Sif sighed sharply.  
“You know it takes two of us to give my mother grandkids,” she huffed. “Maybe if you’d spent a single night at home since you were discharged – ” 

Thor all but growled, and the fury in his face would make most men tremble. Sif just pursed her lips. “We are not,” he cautioned, “having this conversation. Not today.”

“Fine,” Sif said bitterly. “I have to go make nice with that Stark guy before he drives your father insane, and somebody has to make sure Baldr knows whose hands to shake. You behave. Stay sober, don’t send anyone to the hospital and don’t embarrass the family on Baldr’s big day.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and headed off down the pathway with a plastic smile plastered to her face. Thor stomped off across the manicured lawn.

As he homed in on the bar, Thor was pleased to see that at least one of his father’s guests was enjoying the party as much as he was. Tyr, Odin’s lieutenant so-to-speak, was slumped over the open bar downing the latest of many one-too-many beers. Jovially, he waved Thor over.

“What a day. Free booze, sea breeze, beautiful girls. Your father’s a grand man. Real upstanding type, you know? Best friend a man could ask for. Topali?”

“Always,” Thor chuckled, as Tyr poured him a round.

“So. Dishonourable discharge?” Tyr grimaced. Thor downed his drink as casually as he could, searching for calm at the bottom of a glass. “You know,” the old warrior began. “Back in the war, the Einherjar would’ve given a man a medal for doing what you did. Two men dead with just your fists and a broken bottle?” He whistled appreciatively.

“Two marines,” Thor grimaced at the memory. He poured himself another glass. Tyr seemed not to notice his discomfort.

“And here,” he slurred, “they send you away? A fighter like you and they send you away? Leave you rotting in a prison for what? A year?”

“Two.”

“Frost on their brains!” Tyr spat. “Ah well, the better for us.” He leaned over conspiratorially and clinked Thor’s glass. “And who knows, in a few years? Your brother is fine boy, fine, but he’s no fighter.”

Easily, Thor plucked Tyr’s drink out of his hand and set it aside. “He doesn’t have to be. Not as long as I’m here. Understood?”

“Understood, understood!” Tyr laughed jovially, waving the talk of treason aside. “It’s good you’re back. We always need more men we can trust. Never enough good men…” Tyr’s voice drifted off as he turned away from Thor, his gaze following a thin, dark-haired man as he wove his way through the crowd.

“Son of an ice bitch.”

Tyr leapt away from the bar and loudly pushed his way through the crowd towards the man. Thor hurried along after him. By the time he reached the commotion, Tyr held the other man firmly by the collar.

“Well look who decided to show his face?” he taunted, as his prey struggled against the grip. “Thought that after our last chat, you’d still be pissing blood. Or should I call Huginn and Muninn over to remind you not to screw up the Allfather’s business with your stupid plans, you fucking frost giant?”

The man’s eyes flashed at the slur and Tyr’s yells were starting to draw attention. Thor let out a loud, drunken laugh and stepped in between the two men, grabbing them by the shoulders. He led them firmly aside, up towards the main house. When they were mostly out of earshot, Thor let the men go and rounded on Tyr.

“The hell was that? Do I need to take you inside to sober up?” Tyr ignored Thor and stepped forward, his face inches away from the other man’s. The dark-haired man smirked, and all at once Thor recognized him. Loki. Older to be sure, with lines creasing around his lips, but with as much mischief in his eyes as ever.

“Huginn and Muninn are more likely to trip over their own feet and bash their skulls in on that tree than to keep me from where I want to go. Now, Tyr, Thor,” Loki gave a mocking little bow to each in turn. “I have my business with the Allfather.”

As Loki turned towards the house, Tyr turned to Thor and muttered loudly. “His business with the Allfather. That’s a man that doesn’t know his place, that’s what that is. Only reason the Allfather keeps a Jotun dog like that around is to do his dirty work where people can’t see it.”

Throughout the exchange, Loki’s back had stiffened and his hands had curled into fists. He rounded on Tyr and snarled. “I’ve spilt all my Jotun blood and what’s left is as Aesir as any of yours. Or maybe you forget that you were Odin’s dog once too?”

“Once,” Tyr said coldly. “But now, I sit beside him and he calls me his brother. And I think we both know why he’ll never do the same to you.” He chuckled as Loki’s face twisted with rage, and patted him on the cheek. Loki flinched away from the hand as if he had been struck. That only made Tyr laugh harder, and he wiped his hand against his trousers as if he had touched something dirty. Loki’s fist twitched.

“What are you gonna do, hit me?” Tyr tutted. “What would the Allfather say to that?” With visible effort, Loki relaxed his hands and schooled his face into a calm mask.

“Much better,” Tyr drawled. “Now why don’t you apologize to me and to Thor here for making a scene? Nice and loud, so everyone can hear it.” Loki closed his eyes for a moment, as tense as a wire about to snap.

“I am sorry,” he said, slowly and painfully articulating each word. In spite of Thor’s quiet protest, Tyr was not satisfied yet. “What are you sorry for, Loki?” 

Loki looked at Thor now, and his eyes were terrifyingly empty holes in a taught, blank face. “I am sorry for making a scene. It will not happen again.”

“Good boy. Next time you have business with the Allfather, use the back door,” Tyr whispered sweetly. He dismissed Loki with a wave of his hand and headed off back towards the bar, calling for Thor to follow.

“I’m sorry about him,” Thor’s smile drew no reaction at all from Loki. “He’s had far too much to drink.”

“All that means is that he’s too drunk to be polite.” At that Loki’s face snapped to attention and molded itself into a friendly grin. “How long have you been back?”

“Two weeks.” They headed up the lawn towards the house, Thor falling into step with Loki’s long strides. It felt like half a lifetime ago, but Loki cracked an old joke and Thor laughed too loudly and suddenly all the years rolled back. Thor looked at the man beside him and saw the greasy-haired youth, who had smoked in the doorway of their London home as he kept watch, who had snuck Thor his first beer at the age of 12 and who’d first taught him how to shoot a gun somewhere on the coast of Mexico. What Loki saw, he couldn’t say.

“We should catch up. Grab a drink.”

“Usual place?” Loki drawled, as if it hadn’t been eight years since they’d last shared a beer. Thor nodded and Loki left, hurrying towards the house and the Allfather’s business.

***

Odin sat behind his great oak desk with Baldr on his right-hand side, where he belonged. They spoke freely, if quietly, the drone of business punctuated by Baldr’s dry chuckles. Loki slipped in through the side door; he did not care to push through the line of supplicants waiting in the hall. All at once, the warm muttering ceased and Baldr’s smile grew thin and fake. Odin’s single eye bored into Loki’s skull. He shuddered beneath the gaze and all the power it implied. Loki crossed the room in three long strides and made to sit.  
“Loki,” Odin’s tone made it clear that he had permission to speak but certainly not to sit in the presence of the Allfather and his heir. 

“Allfather, Odinson,” Loki was suddenly aware of the tremor in his left hand. He knew he should have done something to take the edge off before he came. But he knew exactly how much worse it would have been for him if he had come to Odin’s home high. He put his shaking hands behind his back, clenching them and hoping that the Allfather would be kind enough to pretend he had not seen his weakness.

“Rumlow is dead. Hydra has a new leader now, he said, a man named Pierce.”

Odin nodded briefly before turning to his son. “He’ll want to prove himself,” he sighed. “We should put an end to that quickly. Too much blood is bad for business.” Baldr smiled and Loki looked down, swallowing his words. Twenty years ago, Odin would have struck a man for saying the same, calling him a coward without honour. Now, the one-eyed Allfather just turned to him expectantly.

“And iduna?”

“He sold 200g, but the rest is back at the warehouse.”

“Who’s the buyer?” Baldr cut in, quick as lightning. Loki swallowed. 

“He didn’t give a name.”

“Rumlow didn’t keep clients. Police, maybe. Maybe competition. Hydra could be a bigger threat than we thought.” Baldr spoke softly, but Loki could hear the echoes of a younger Odin. Charming, clever. Ruthless. A man he had followed into hell. “You know where he found his buyer at least?” Loki shook his head, not quite trusting his voice to carry the lie. Baldr’s lips tightened, but Odin gave an easy smile.

“No matter. You’ll find out before long.” And just like that he was free to go. Loki bowed his head and made for the door. Odin’s voice stopped him halfway across the room, holding him in place in a web of bloody memories. “You did well, Loki. As you’ve always done for me and mine.” Loki twitched and knew there was no sense in hiding his shaking hands any longer. “And I am sure that Baldr and I would not miss it if another hundred grams were taken from the warehouse. After all, good work should not go unrewarded. Son?”

“Our thanks. Enjoy it.” Baldr’s disgust was palpable, but at the thought of sweet iduna Loki had trouble caring. He gave another little bow and slipped out the door as quietly as he had come. 

He did not remember sneaking back out of the house, or finding his rusty truck in the sea of luxury cars parked in front of the Allfather’s home. He must have driven to the warehouse and then to Wanda’s, but it was all a blur. The only clear, bright thing from that whole afternoon was the 100g package lying open on the floor beside him, and the pinch of golden powder dissolving in the syringe in his hand. He saw the bruised skin in the crook of his elbow and the blood – his blood – swirling in the golden liquid. He pressed down and suddenly it was warm, he was whole and it did not hurt to smile. Loki lay back and watched in wonder as colour flooded the cramped apartment and music drowned out the traffic in the street below. 

A small and angry part of him knew that this would only last a moment, a few minutes at most. That the world was loud and grey, that Wanda’s home smelled like sex and dirty dishes and that he would finish the iduna in a day or two. That no matter what else he did he would never be worth more than this. That he would wake up twitching and afraid in his own sick with blood running down his arms from where he’d struck collapsed veins. That he would wake up knowing Odin had done this to him, and in spite of it all he would come when the Allfather called, kill when he was told and know his place. But for now, just for a moment, none of it mattered. For a few minutes at most, Loki was happy and at peace. And he knew that Odin had done that for him, too.


	3. I Know What You Did Last Winter

“Phencyclide Methamphetamine, street name ‘Idunn’s gold’ or just ‘iduna’,” Phil Coulson slid a photo of pure golden crystals across the table. “It’s fast acting and very pure. Our undercover unit has been able to get us a sample and we believe the main distributors are the Nine Realms, headed by the Borson family.”

“Allegedly headed by the Borson family.” Nick Fury, Chief of the SHPD, credited his success in life to his attention to detail. “When you find me something to pin on Borson, then we’ll talk.”

“We have an asset inside the Nine Realms. A dockworker who slips drug shipments past customs and into one of the Nine Realms’ warehouses. He’s agreed to cooperate with us if we clear his record. Ex-Aryan Brotherhood, Hydra, you know the type.” Fury seemed unconvinced. Coulson pressed on. “He’ll testify that he’s seen Tyr Ulfildr in the warehouse handling the drugs.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Fury’s groan drowned out the rest of Coulson’s speech. “Even if you can get this guy to testify, and that’s a big, big if, all that happens is the Borsons pay off the judge and Tyr gets a slap on the wrist. If he ends up doing any time, he’ll keep his mouth shut about the Borsons and find a fat cheque in his pocket when he gets out.”

“Are you telling me to give up?” Fury stood up, closing a folder full of the names of witnesses gone missing and investigations derailed. He handed it back to Coulson. 

“No, I’m not telling you to give up. Just that you shouldn’t get too hopeful about getting at the Borsons. Find out how this stuff is getting into the city, where it’s going and which customs guys and small-time dealers we can pin it on.” Coulson said nothing, but Fury could see how tired his old friend looked. He clapped him on the shoulder as they headed out. “Remember, we’re damage control. Our job isn’t to fix everyone’s problems.”

“That’s what I tell Rogers,” Coulson groused. Fury laughed dryly. “A few months in homicide should fix him right up. Well, speak of the devil.” They turned a corner and found themselves face to face with Steve, helping himself to a bagel and smiling warmly at the dispatcher. That smile fell painfully quickly when he caught sight of Coulson.

“Who did you find?” By now, these exchanges all felt distant. Steve would grimace, look genuinely sorry and explain that a few pieces of his latest witness against the Borsons had floated into the north harbour. For Steve’s sake, Phil tried to look disappointed.

“Your guy Rumlow.”

“The usual?”

“Broken knee, broken hand, fractured jaw and slit throat. Chemical burns, too.” Steve took a deep breath and put away his half-eaten bagel. “On the face and neck.”

“Not in the eyes? Guess he gave us up pretty quick.” Steve’s face turned queasy and Coulson felt a pang of regret. “Anyone hear from Barton yet? No?” Coulson sighed. No news was good news, he supposed. Clint was the best undercover cop he’d had the privilege to work with – no news meant Barton was doing what he did best. Phil retreated to his desk, swinging by the coffee maker first. It was still broken, but given the poison it usually brewed that was probably a blessing in disguise. Coulson’s desk lay buried beneath a decade of evidence, all of it inadmissible. On mornings like this, Phil would usually dig out his latest informant’s file and spend the next hour or so quietly shredding it. Rumlow’s file, however, was not under the week-old sandwich and the bag of bullet casings where he had left it. Instead it sat in the hands of the red-haired woman lounging in his chair. 

“Can I help you with something?” Phil said coolly. The woman looked up, and sheepishly set the file back on his desk.

“You must be Detective Coulson,” she smiled, extending a hand. Phil didn’t take it.

“And you are?”

“Agent Natasha Romanoff, FBI.” 

“FBI?”

Natasha smiled, patiently. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I called. Last week. I’m here about the Hatchet County murders.”

“Hatchet County… Minnesota?” Phil rubbed his jaw, trying to remember the conversation.

“That’s the one. They found the last body – the father. He washed up on the interstate in the spring thaw. So that crosses out the sheriff’s prime suspect and leaves us at square one. We’re re-interviewing all the suspects and this Loki Silver guy is across state lines. So there go my weekend plans.” She reached into her briefcase and produced a slim folder. Phil opened it to find a gaunt man staring up at him from a grainy photocopy of a driver’s licence.

“His address is a PO box on an abandoned lot about five miles out of town, but everyone here tells me you’re the guy to ask if I want to find one of Odin’s men.”

Even from their pixelated prison, Loki’s eyes seemed to follow Coulson’s. He closed the file and handed it back to Natasha. “You only need to interview him?” he asked. She nodded. “If you just tell me where to find him, I’ll bring him down here for the afternoon and handle the rest.”  
Phil glanced at the clock. It was coming on 10:00am. “Let’s go for a drive,” he said, grabbing his sunglasses. He led Natasha out into the parking lot before she could protest. As she headed towards the short row of battered squad cars, Phil cleared his throat. “Where we’re going, it’s safer to take Lola,” he said, jabbing his thumb at a faded red Ford on the far side of the lot.

“Not a fan of the cops, is he?” Natasha grunted, slamming the rusty door shut. Phil revved the engine and Lola skidded out onto the street.

“Loki?” he asked. Natasha nodded. “Nah, not any more than the rest of Odin’s boys. The last one we took up to the station we found gutted in a public park next morning.” Phil chuckled humourlessly. “So now we just take them for a drive, ask our questions, and drop them off somewhere out of town. Trust me,” he pressed on over Natasha’s protest. “A trip to the station’s the kiss of death for these guys. Hell, from what I hear Loki barely survived the beating he got after they found out he served 40 days in Minnesota.”

They drove in silence for a moment, navigating the jagged turns and piles of trash that lined the road to the harbour. At every red light, Phil’s eyes flicked over to the folder in Natasha’s lap. “So what did happen up there? In Hatchet County?” he asked at last as Lola ground to a halt by the curb. Natasha gave him a wary look. 

“Where are we?” she asked instead. The yellowed asphalt of the street disappeared into an alleyway ahead of them. A seedy bar with whitewashed walls and Christmas lights woven into the window-grating squatted at the end of the street. Half of the frosted door was taped over with a piece of cardboard on which someone had drawn a sprawling tree in white chalk. The summer rains had warped and smeared it, and the tree bulged monstrously. Rainwater still dripped from the cardboard onto the bar’s well-worn steps.

“Ig-yig,” Phil made a spitting sound. “I can’t ever pronounce these damn Niner names. Yggie’s is what we call it. It’s about the only one of the Ee-eh…Ehseer?”

“Aesir?” Natasha prompted. Phil snapped his fingers.

“That’s the one.” He looked impressed. “You know, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t actually from the Nine Realms who got that on the first try. Anyway, Yggie’s is about the only Aesir place that’ll serve a frost giant so we’re pretty sure to find him here,” he trailed off. “What?”

“Frost giant.” Natasha said the words like a slap to the face. “You can’t just…Jotnar.”

“Uh…bless you?”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “They’re called Jotnar or Jotun,” she explained tersely. “Saying ‘frost giant’ is, well. It’s an insult.”

“Huh. Who’d have guessed?” Phil said awkwardly. “Loki says it all the time. Guess he’s a foul mouthed fro- Jotun?”

“Loki’s Jotun?” Natasha’s eyes widened in shock. Phil made a vague, hand-wavy gesture. “Kinda,” he guessed. “Maybe half? Look, it’s just something he said in passing. Sorry if I offended.”

Before Natasha could answer, Yggie’s door swung open and Loki stumbled out. The moment the sun hit his eyes he cursed and lunged back towards the bar, but the door had already slammed shut. Even as Loki fumbled with the handle he heard the lock click shut. Defeated, he sat down on the stoop and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Back in the car, Natasha moved to open the door. Phil grabbed her shoulder.

“Let me go get him,” he said firmly. Natasha shrugged and raised her hands. Phil stayed in his seat, eyes straying to the folder.

“How much trouble is he in?” he asked finally, nodding towards Loki.

“It’s just a standard follow-up interview.”

“Bull. In twenty years I’ve never, never seen a follow-up interview based on what? He was pulled over for a DUI two days before anyone found the bodies. Is he a suspect, what are we talking here?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure I didn’t tell you any of that in my phone call. What else has Loki said?”

“Is he a suspect?” Phil pressed.

“Would that change anything?”

Phil’s answer was cut off by a sharp rapping on the window. He looked up to see Loki leaning against the car, casually blowing smoke at the glass. In between puffs he gestured for Phil to roll down the window.

“You need a new car, Coulson,” he said softly as the glass came down. The acrid smoke blew in with each word and Phil fought to keep from coughing. Loki grinned, all teeth and embers. “This one’s getting familiar and people here will start asking questions. Who’s you friend?” He waggled his fingers at Natasha. “She’s very pretty,” he stage-whispered. “Should I tell Strucker his girls have competition?”

“Agent Romanoff, FBI,” Natasha said curtly. “Get in the car, Mr. Silver.”

“Mr. Silver.” Loki beamed. “I could get used to Mr. Silver.”

“Just get in the fucking car,” Coulson sighed, reaching to unlock the back door. Loki slid in gracefully and immediately splayed his long legs over the entire back seat. “And put out your damn smoke,” Coulson added as he pulled away from the curb. With a put-upon sigh, Loki crunched his cigarette into his heel and put the still-smoking stub into his pocket.

“I don’t see any money back here.” Loki made a show of searching the seat as Phil drove them towards the highway. “Unless Miss FBI is hiding something, I’m not sure what the point of picking me up was, exactly.”

“Farbauti Utgarda,” Natasha said, turning to gauge Loki’s reaction. “Not a very common name in Minnesota. I think his neighbors called him Frank.”

“And?” Loki’s face remained impassive. 

“When they interviewed you in the county jail, you said, quote, the first and last time you saw Frank Utgarda was at his work at the hardware store, asking for fish bait and an ice pick?”

“Ice fishing,” Loki smiled.

“And Utgarda told you that the best fishing spot was Marion Lake. He even drew you a map, is that right?”

“It’s possible,” Loki looked out the window at the cars speeding by. “I was not, shall we say, sober for most of my vacation. My memory,” he shrugged.

“That scar on your hand? That’s from ice fishing, too?”

Loki glanced down at the pale line on the back of his left hand. It twisted around to the underside of his wrist where it disappeared under his long black sleeves. “Gutting fish,” he answered, eyes still locked on the cars passing him by.

“Give me your arm,” Natasha said suddenly. Loki drew back warily. Natasha clicked her tongue. “I need to measure the scar,” she explained impatiently. “They found a bloody knife in your trunk while your car was in the impound lot. I need to make sure that knife made the cut. Your arm, please.”

Reaching over oh so slowly Loki placed his left arm, palm facing down, between the two front seats. Natasha pulled out a short tape measure and laid it against the scar. “Palm up,” she said, jotting down the measurements. “And roll up your sleeve.”

Loki seemed about to object, but thought better of it. He rolled his sleeve up to the crook of his elbow and laid his arm down as before. Faint blue tattoos flowed freely through clusters of bruised veins and scabbed needle marks. The knife scar, still pink and fresh, cut clean through it. Only one tattoo seemed untouched – a short line of numbers and dashes printed at the base of Loki’s left palm. The scar ran right below them, underlining the numbers. 9-81… that was all Phil saw before Natasha covered them with her tape measure.

“Are we done?” Loki hissed. He snatched back his arm and rolled down the sleeve. Natasha nodded.

“You know, they found Frank’s body,” she added conversationally. “Washed up on the interstate, just down the hill from Marion Lake.” Loki’s only response was a soft, “Huh.”

“They sent some scrapings from your knife for DNA testing the day after he was found,” Natasha continued, watching Loki like a hawk. “If there’s any chance they’ll find blood on there that’s not yours, now would be the time to change your story.”

Silence filled the car. Natasha turned away at last. “I’m staying at the motel at the next exit,” she told Phil, pointing to the ramp. “You can just leave me there. I think I’ve got everything I’m going to get.”

Not another word was spoken until they reached the hotel parking lot. Phil drove right up to the door. As Natasha stepped out of the car, Loki cleared his throat.

“It’s my blood,” he rasped, locking eyes with her. “If they test it, all they’ll find is my blood. I can’t change that part of the story.”

“Good,” Natasha gathered her folder and her purse. “Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” She slammed the door shut and headed inside. Instead of driving off, Phil pulled the keys out of the ignition.

“When the FBI tells you not to worry, that’s when you should start worrying,” he whispered furiously. “What the hell? You told me it was a DUI which, that’s not great, but nothing that needs to show up on your informant history. Suspect in a murder investigation – by the FBI, too, Jesus – that, that I can’t hide for you.”

“You won’t have to,” Loki promised. “That woman wasn’t FBI.”

“No?” Phil said, exasperated. “Then what – no, you know what? I don’t care. That file, where you’re listed as a suspect? That was from the county sheriff’s office. The second they put that on record, I can’t keep you as my informant. Which means I can’t pay you. Or protect you.”

“Yes, because your protection meant so much to Bragi, and Ward, and Kvasir, and Zola, and Njord, and Freyr. You couldn’t protect them from Odin’s shadow. I can’t imagine the next one lasting much longer.” 

“Barton’s keeping an eye on you,” Phil reminded him. Loki snorted. “And what’ll he do? Stare Odin’s men to death? Please, without me Barton would have gotten himself shot months ago.”

“Barton’s the best man I’ve ever had on this case,” Phil said forcefully. “Worth more to me than any CI. Even you. What exactly can you give me that’s worth the trouble this Utgarda case will cause me?”

Loki sulked for a moment, thinking. 

“What about Tyr Ulfildr?”

“I’m listening.” At the mention of Odin’s lieutenant, Phil fought to keep the excitement from his face. As usual, Loki saw straight through him.

“How much cash do you have? Right now?”

Phil looked at his passenger incredulously. “Are you serious?” Deadly serious, Loki reached for the glove box. Phil swatted his hands away.

“Alright, alright. I have maybe fifty?”

“Stop by the bank before you drop me off, and I’ll tell you about a warehouse in block D in the west harbour,” Loki offered. “Tyr Ulfildr will be there in three days handling a very particular shipment. Maybe you will be there too?”

“Text me the address and we’ll see. Is there any point in asking you to testify in court?” Phil sighed. Loki chuckled dryly. 

“I like keeping my head on my shoulders. But keeping Tyr in jail for a couple weeks at least should be worth, oh, several hundred?”

“Ha.” Phil started the car and pulled a fistful of crumpled bills out of his wallet. He headed for the highway and the harbour, far from any respectable banks. “Fifty bucks. Take it or leave it.”

Loki grimaced. His stomach grumbled and his hand was starting to shake. The money rustled when Phil pressed it into his palm. If anything, it made the shaking worse.


	4. Stabbing Over Spilled Beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit more time than expected this weekend, so here are a couple chapters early. Comments and critique really do make my day, so let me know what you think :)

“So the translator goes, ‘well, sir, I didn’t think everyone would get the point, so I just said: the general has just told a joke,” Thor did his best to mimic the interpreter’s accent. “Everyone please laugh now!” He bellowed with laughter and took another swig of beer. Beside him, Loki sniggered.

“Your army was all one long joke,” he murmured, and Thor laughed even harder. “Man, wait ‘til I tell you the one about how Parker came running into the mess one day waving a pin and asking if anyone had seen his grenade.” Thor finished his beer and slammed the glass down on the stained oak bar that curled around the back wall of Yggie’s. “Another!” Ratatosk, the rat-faced barman, shuffled towards them and snatched up the empty glass with a scowl. It was already cracked from the force of the impact. Thor slid a conciliatory ten-dollar bill across the bar but Ratatosk waved it away.

“A son of Odin doesn’t pay for drinks at Yggdrasil,” he squeaked, somewhat reluctantly. With a sly smile and pupils blown wide as saucers, Loki downed the last of his drink and smashed the glass down against the edge of the bar. It shattered. “Another?” he asked innocently as Thor guffawed. Ratatosk bit his lip and set about clearing up the shards. “A son of Odin could pay for property damage, though,” he grumbled. Thor clapped the man on the shoulder and slipped the ten dollars into his apron. “C’mon. Get me and my friend here another drink.” Ratatosk ducked behind the taps and two more pints slid across the bar into Thor’s outstretched hand. He passed one on to Loki and they toasted quietly.

“I should tell you,” Loki began gingerly. “They’re back. The Red Room.” Thor took a long, silent drink. His smile dropped like a stone, and Loki was sorry to see it go. 

“It’s only one woman so far,” he continued, trying to ignore the change in Thor’s mood. “Waiting for something. Reinforcements, most likely. Even those suicidal bastards wouldn’t dare take on the Allfather alone.”

“Malekith did,” Thor said numbly. The memory of a gunshot cracked between his words.

“She’s staying in the motel by the interstate,” Loki offered. “Say the word and I’ll handle it.”

“Have you told Father?”

Loki paused. “Not yet,” he answered carefully. Odin would ask how she’d found them, and Farbauti Utgarda had already caused Loki enough trouble without that particular detail being known.

“Good,” Thor nodded, picking up his drink. “Don’t. Leave it alone, and maybe she’ll go away.”

“Why settle for maybe?” Loki half-joked. Eight years ago, Thor would have laughed.

“She can’t get to us, like you said. Not with Einherjar everywhere, and not with you watching our backs.”

“It would be easier to watch your back if – ”

“Enough, Loki,” Thor sighed. “Enough. Keep old wounds closed. She’s just trying to scare us, but if you pick a fight… Father’s got his men, and I can handle myself. But I can’t watch Baldr end up like Mom.”

“You won’t have to,” Loki promised. Thor didn’t look any less sullen. “Listen,” Loki forced a grin. “Let’s go up to the cabin on the bluffs sometime. Like we used to. Before the storms get too bad.”

Thor let himself be cheered.

“I’ll bring beer,” he offered.

“I’ll bring something stronger.” 

“Hey there, boys,” a woman’s voice lilted in a strong Sokovian accent. “Looking for some company?” 

Thor sputtered as her hand dropped to his thigh. Loki only laughed into his drink. “Piss off, Wanda,” he muttered without looking up at her. “Go find Fandral or Volstagg if you want to play. I’m too broke for you tonight.”

“I was asking Thor, not you,” she spat, snatching her hand back from Thor’s lap. 

“Come on,” Loki grinned. “You’re always asking for me.” He wrapped his hand around her waist and she batted it away. Only then did Loki look up at her. Her dress was worn, her jacket stained and her hair still tangled from her last customer. To Loki, she was always beautiful. He traced his hand up her back and chuckled at the way she huffed and rolled her eyes. Then he noticed the bruise, hiding beneath a thick coat of cheap makeup, just under her left eye.

“Who did that?” He cupped her jaw in his hand. From the way the skin had broken on her cheek, he hardly needed to ask. “Strucker? Only that idiot wears rings this big.”  
Wanda turned her face away and brushed off Loki’s hand. “Doesn’t matter,” she sighed.

“I didn’t ask you if it mattered,” Loki’s voice grew hard. “I asked who did it.”

“What’s it to you?” she hissed back.

“Fine,” Loki leaned against the bar, turning back to his drink. “It’s nothing, then. It’s nothing to me.” 

“Fine,” she said, digging her nails into his skin. She spun around and walked towards the pool tables in the back of the bar. Loki only turned around when he heard her sickly-sweet giggle cut through the din as she asked Fandral to show her how to play. 

“Nice girl,” Thor said sympathetically. 

“Hmm,” Loki grunted, distracted by the flat-screen TV that hung above the pool tables in the back of the bar. Someone had flicked to a news channel and a small crowd had gathered around the screen. Behind the curvaceous news anchor, two SHPD officers exited a certain west harbour warehouse. Between them they dragged a handcuffed and bedraggled Tyr towards the squad car, while a second team followed with four sealed crates of Idunn’s gold. The news anchor turned and flashed a brilliant smile at none other than Phil Coulson.

“Officer Coulson, this is the largest drug bust Safe Harbour has seen in over a decade. Should we be concerned about possible reprisals?”

“Darcy, this is just the first step.” Coulson’s eyes flashed confidently at the camera as Tyr disappeared into the squad car. “We are taking this city back. We’ve put up with guns and drugs and gangs for too long and if anyone should be concerned it’s the men who’ve run this town into the ground. It’s a new day, and the rules have changed.”  
“Can you address the speculation that Mr. Ulfildr is connected to the Borson family? Is there any evidence that Mr. Borson is invol–”  
Darcy was drowned out by the roar of football stadium as Ratatosk changed the channel. A vein bulged in his temple. He turned to face the crowd. “Enough of that trash.” Pocketing the remote, he headed back behind the bar. Loki waved him over.

“Topali,” he grinned. “To celebrate.” Ratatosk glowered. Thor grabbed Loki by the shoulder, shaking him.

“What the hell?” Thor hissed, but Loki shook him off with a dry chuckle.

“Just having a laugh, I promise.” Loki sipped at his beer until Ratatosk stepped away. “Tyr was an idiot and a drunk. If he got himself caught, the Allfather’s better off for it.”

“Look, I know you two didn’t get along,” Thor pressed on in spite of Loki’s eye-roll. “But you’re not making yourself any friends going around telling everyone you’re glad he’s gone.”

Loki bit back his response as guffaws from the pool tables drowned out all conversation. Barton was there, rubbing shoulders with Einherjar and Hydra alike. Watching, like he always did. Gathering little snippets for Coulson to file away. The topali soured on Loki’s tongue. Coulson wouldn’t be happy with a few Einherjar behind bars and a warehouse of iduna locked up in evidence. Not forever. Certainly not if Barton promised him Odin and took stupid risks to deliver. And Loki had no intention of dying for Barton’s stupidity. Setting down his glass, Loki rose and stumbled to the pool tables. He exaggerated his drunken laughter, swayed dangerously, and bumped against Barton. 

“Watch it,” Barton exclaimed, swinging around. But Loki had already vanished behind the hulking forms of Geri and Freki Volke, and Clint was still holding his pool cue. It struck the side of Geri’s beer stein and the drink sloshed out of the glass, soaking the man’s shirt.

“You watch it,” Geri growled, slamming the glass down onto the pool table. The rest of the beer spilled onto the green.

“Man, move your fucking glass,” Barton answered. “I’m trying to play a game.”

Loki had stopped listening to the argument within moments of starting it. His attention was drawn across the bar where Fandral was running his hand over Wanda’s thigh, tugging at her waist, breathing smoke into her face. The clatter that followed the first punch snapped him back. Geri was holding a hand over his jaw while Freki threw Barton against the wall. He missed, and they stumbled through the door into the dark alley beyond in a drunken tangle of limbs. Geri followed behind them, and Loki saw the glint of a knife in his hand. That wouldn’t do. Coulson would never forgive him if he let Barton die. Glancing around the bar to make sure no one noticed him, Loki slipped soundlessly into the alley.

Barton lay gasping for air on the pavement, half crushed under Freki’s unconscious form. Loki spared him a pitying glance. “Good,” he said curtly. “You stay there.” He turned back to Geri, eyes flashing first to the knife. Quick as a whip Loki lunged, arms over his head to block the wild stab. As soon as the arm connected, Loki planted his feet and swung a hammer fist at the man’s jaw. Geri stumbled back and Loki followed, bearing down on him with knees to the groin and vicious elbows to the throat and face. Three more steps and the knife came clattering to the ground. Geri rushed him with a vicious howl. Loki kicked out, trying to gain some distance, but it barely slowed the monster down. Fists rained down around him and Loki dodged the first blow, but the second hit him square across the jaw and he felt his nose crack with the third. Blood bubbled on his lip. He panted. One more step, and his back smacked against the wall. Geri leered and heavy hands closed around Loki’s throat. With a sharp twist, Loki broke the hold and slammed his forearm into the man’s neck. His other hand reached for his long knife. Geri’s eyes grew wide. Loki stabbed him three times in the belly, the knife jabbing in and out in three short breaths. As the man doubled over, Loki grabbed him by the hair and slit his throat. Blood spattered the wall and a red stain bloomed on Loki’s shirt.

Someone moaned from farther down the alley, and Loki remembered Barton. He dried his knife on the dead man’s shirt and tucked it back into his belt. Barton was just where he’d left him, only now the man was curled up against a dumpster. Freki lay beside him, groaning softly. Barton’s beady eyes tracked Loki’s every move. “Take off your shirt and your jacket,” Loki said sharply as he began to unbutton his own. Barton stayed frozen on the ground. “You’re not hurt, are you?” Loki crouched down beside him and Barton flinched away. In the light of the doorway blue and black tattoos writhed on Loki’s pale arms, darting in between the track marks. “No? Hey,” he tapped Barton’s shoulder and the man all but jumped out of his skin. “Are you hurt?” Barton shook his head and Loki broke into a bloodstained grin. “Excellent! Take off your shirt and your jacket and give them to me. I can’t go back in there looking like I just killed someone.” Barton complied with shaking hands and slipped on the filthy button up. Loki pulled Barton’s t-shirt over his head and complained about the shortness of the jacket’s sleeves. 

“What did you do?” Barton croaked. He tried to stand up but his knees were still watery from the shock. Propping himself up against the dumpster, he couldn’t look away from Geri, slumped in a bloody puddle against the wall.

“Help you?” Loki offered, and Barton chuckled hysterically. Evidently ‘help’ wasn’t the first word that came to his mind. “I told Coulson I’d keep you safe if he did his part,” he answered simply. “Tell him to keep up the good work. And Barton?” Loki glanced pointedly at Freki. “If I were you, I would get out of here before this one wakes up. For all he knows, you’re the one that gutted his brother.” With that, Loki headed back inside, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Still at the bar, Thor was nursing a third beer and whispering sweet nothings into his phone.

“Yeah, babe. Mhm,” he smiled. “I know. As soon as I can, I promise, love. It’s been busy with the family. Yes, with her, too. But I’m working on that.” He noticed Loki approaching and the smile disappeared. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Have fun stargazing, alright, babe? Yeah? Love you too.” He hung up. Loki sank onto his stool, face twisting in pain. The adrenaline and iduna were wearing off and he was not looking forward to waking up the next day.

“You sounded happy, there. On the phone,” he commented, giving Thor a sidelong look. “That can’t have been Sif.”

“What Sif doesn’t know doesn’t hurt anybody,” Thor warned. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing new,” Loki groaned as his blood dripped steadily into the empty glass.


	5. Melancholy Melodies

Phil sat in his office alone, flicking through yet another list of names and numbers in the sickly green light. It was too late – or too early – for this kind of work. The FBI Intelligence branch had an agent Rodesky, Rogan, Rollo… and then Rory and Rowland. No Romanoff here. No Romanoff in National Security, no Romanoff in Administrative. Phil shoved the list to the far corner of his desk and pressed his thumbs into his temples. The phone call he’d had with Hatchet County’s deputy sheriff that afternoon echoed in his brain.

“I’m sorry,” the confused deputy had said. “I think there must be some mistake. We don’t have anyone from the FBI looking into the Utgarda case.” Forty minutes worth of promises later, the sheriff’s office had agreed to keep Loki Silver off their suspects list for the time being. Success wasn’t nearly as comforting as Phil had hoped. Things rarely were, when Loki was proved right. In a last-ditch effort, Phil pulled up the FBI’s most wanted list. A search for “Natasha Romanoff” came up blank. He was about to close the webpage when he saw her. She was younger in the blurry photo, and blonde. And apparently “Natalie Rushman”. Holding his breath, Phil clicked the link.

_Rushman is wanted for her alleged involvement in the murders of Buri Ersteman and the Hrimdrepa family. Her current whereabouts are unknown, but she is believed to have ties to the Red Room cell in New York. Rushman should be considered armed and dangerous._

“Late night?” Phil jumped at the sound of a voice outside his own head. Steve Rogers stood by his desk, a cup of coffee in each hand. He set one down in front of Phil. “Real coffee,” he promised with a grin. “Not the crap they have in the lunch room.”

Phil took the proffered cup with a satisfied sigh. “What’s keeping you here?” he said, taking his first sip. He sputtered as it scalded his lips. “Peggy can’t be happy you’re working so late.” He set the cup aside, letting it cool.

“Paperwork,” Steve sighed. “We got an ID on the John Doe they found behind Yggie’s. Geri Volke. One of Odin’s guys.”

“Was he the guy that torched Hydra’s warehouse?” Phil idly sifted through the papers on his desk until Geri’s mugshot reached the top of the pile. “Yep. Geri and Freki Volke. You think it’s Hydra’s revenge? ‘Cause if it is, you homicide guys are in for a rough few months.”

Steve pulled up a chair. “It’s not Hydra,” he admitted, suddenly serious. Coulson put down his file and listened attentively. “Nobody there likes to talk to us, but it looks like an argument between the Volkes and your guy Barton got violent. Word is Freki’s out for blood and put a price on Barton’s head.” Coulson kicked his desk, cursing. The coffee sloshed out over his papers and he hurried to save the evidence from staining. Steve looked painfully apologetic. “I’m gonna have to tell Fury to take him off the case,” he explained. “I’m sorry, Phil. It’s for his own safety.”

“I know, I know,” Coulson muttered. It was hardly the first time he’d lost a man. Granted, on those occasions, he’d had a few more alternatives than only Loki. The sly bastard had to have figured that out by now. Rubbing his eyes, he turned back to Steve. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said. Rogers frowned, weighed down by a question he didn’t want to admit. “What?” Coulson prompted.

“How can you stand this?” he said at last. “This town. What it does to people. What it turns them into.” He looked up at Coulson now and the anger in his eyes melted into pleading. “What kind of world is it where men like Odin get to walk free, when we know what he’s done. What he keeps doing. And your informants.” The word, when Steve said it, seemed somehow rotten. “How do you make deals with guys like that? How do you trust them?”

“I don’t,” Phil sighed. “But I trust that each of my guys has something against Odin. It doesn’t matter what – hell, the first guy I used, Kvasir, when I asked him why he just said that Odin had screwed him over somehow during the Nine Realms war and being my CI was just revenge. These days I don’t ask why, because my job is just to take that anger and use it to do some good. Make this town a bit safer.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder and gently pried the mangled coffee cup out of his hands. “That’s all we can do.”

Steve wasn’t comforted, but Phil had no other comfort to give. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and Loki’s number flashed on his screen.

_Check your car. Windshield._

With Natasha still weighing on his mind, he grabbed his jacket and his car keys and headed out into the parking lot. The night wind smelled like rain. It was nearly hurricane season, and the storms that hit Safe Harbour by the end of it were a study in violence. People said it always got worse before it got better, but the storms came back every year, and Phil was sure they did so worse than before. Still the city remained, and Phil with it. He reached Lola and was only slightly surprised to see the thick brown envelope stuck beneath his windshield wipers. There was no name or sender, but just a peek inside was enough to reveal Loki’s handiwork. A thick packet of forged gun licenses sat at the bottom under a single sheet of paper on which was written a single name and address: Wolfgang Strucker. Phil pocketed the envelope with a wry smile. Trust Loki to get the city’s biggest pimp on a tiny detail, with nothing to connect him back to Odin or the business. Still, it got a prick like Strucker off the streets.

Phil reached for his wallet and pulled out two fifties. He tucked them on top of Lola’s back tire. Then for good measure, he added an extra twenty. He thought about leaving a note – for food, not iduna. Instead he placed a rock over the bills so they wouldn’t blow away and turned his collar up against the wind. As he walked back to the station, he could have sworn he saw a shadow slink behind Lola and reach for the back tire. He didn’t bother looking around to check. He never was able to see Loki coming.

***

A hundred and twenty dollars lay on the floor, pressed under a mostly empty bottle of cheap vodka. The only light in the apartment came from the neon signs across the street and a single dim bulb blinking on and off above Wanda’s stove. It was barely bright enough to see by, but Loki didn’t need the light. He knew every inch of Wanda by touch, by taste, by smell. She moaned and he hiked her knees up over his shoulders, his tongue lapping greedily between her legs. He traced one hand up her perfect belly, feeling her shudder from his kisses. His hand reached her nipple, hard and pebbled, and pinched. At the same time his lips closed around her clit. Wanda bucked towards him as she came, leaving a glistening streak on his jaw. Loki sat back to admire his work, on hand still toying with Wanda’s breast while the other jerked lazily up and down his cock. He was painfully hard, with lust and iduna both. Wanda could tell. She always could. Eyes glazed over and toes curling from her orgasm, she splayed her legs impossibly wide. He thrust into the warm slickness of her and gasped, a breathless bit of joy. She clenched around him in waves until he was spent. Boneless, he collapsed beside her and she took him into her arms. He nuzzled at her neck just below her ear, taking in her scent. She never shot up when they used, but the sickly-sweet smell of smoke hung heavy over the apartment. It caught in her hair. He breathed it in. When it was good with Wanda, nothing else compared.

They could lie like that, in silence, until well past morning, but the building and its tenants could not give them even that one night of peace. Wanda’s walls were paper thin and it was impossible not to hear the football game blaring on the floor below, or the argument two doors down. Loudest of all were Odin’s men, stomping about Fandral’s apartment upstairs. The ceiling creaked and groaned with them as glasses clinked, something smashed, and Volstagg sang drunkenly along to the Asgardian anthem. Loki could hear them stumble to attention. Stand, salute, present. He remembered watching the soldiers – the Einherjar – march to it, rifles gleaming in the winter sun. Wanda threw a shoe at the ceiling, but it did nothing to quiet the noise.

“I could go up there,” Loki offered.

“And do what?” Wanda snapped. “They won’t pay me if you break their balls over this.”

“Then I’ll break something else.”

“Stop it,” she swatted his chest. Even as she curled against him, Loki could tell that their careless moment was past. Wanda was already thinking of her next client, already counting down the sweaty nights and sticky dollars they set against her debt. “I’m so close,” she murmured, staring into nothing. “I owe him less than three grand, and then I’m free. Then I’m gone.”

“Even you don’t believe that,” Loki scoffed. “Wanda, it’s Hydra. Pierce won’t just let you go. If he thinks you’re close, he’ll just make it twice that next month. And that’s if he’s generous. Worst case, you’ll end up like Pietro.” At the mention of her brother’s name, Wanda turned stiff and cold.

“You still think you can leave this town without a bullet in your skull?” She didn’t answer. When Loki tried to wrap his arms around her, she elbowed him away.

“I’m getting out,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll find something.”

“Come work for Odin,” Loki said suddenly. Wanda gave him a disbelieving look. “He’ll pay your debt just to piss Hydra off, and his boys are already your best clients. He’ll take care of you, I swear.”

“Like he takes care of you?” Wanda traced Loki’s ruined arms, down to the scar and the numbers on his wrist. Whatever answer he had ready died when her fingers ghosted over the ink. Wanda climbed off the mattress and reached for the vodka. The Asgardian anthem thundered to a close and for a moment all was still as Fandral’s phone scrolled to the next song. Then Loki heard it. Low and sultry, a woman’s voice filled the room above. The men whistled appreciatively. Wanda hummed along.

“Stop that,” Loki said shakily. The music was faint and he couldn’t quite pick up the words, but he’d heard them often enough to guess. The tune alone would have been enough to set him on edge. Even just the sound of her voice. He could almost convince himself he’d forgotten it, right up until the moment he heard her sing again. She’d crooned the same song in the dark of their small apartment while he’d hid under the blankets when the power cut out. His brothers had been old enough by then to mock him for it, calling him a baby for being afraid of the dark. She would scold them, they would make faces, and then she’d put up her hair and go sing for the soldiers in the dancehalls. She always kissed them goodnight before she left, and always told them to keep back from the windows in case that night was the night the bombing would start again. Loki never got to hear the end of the song, not until years later when he’d seen a recording of her perform. By then, he knew too much of what she'd been and how she'd ended to let it comfort him.

“Come on, this one’s not so bad,” Wanda said lightly. She sang along for another few bars before noticing Loki’s sullen expression. “What?” she sighed. She offered him the last of the vodka, which Loki gladly took.

“Nothing,” he retorted between gulps. “Stupid fucking song, that’s all.”

The last few lines were all but drowned out by the applause of a recorded audience, trapped forever in a concert hall that last spring before the war. “Marvelous, marvelous,” the canned emcee trilled. Loki could picture him jumping onto the stage and twirling the singer across it. She would have worn her blue dress, and her thick Aesir-gold curls would have fallen from their neat bun to frame her laughing face. “Ladies and gentlemen, Nal Laufey! The loveliest lady in all of Asgard!” For the life of him, Loki couldn’t be sure whether that voice was coming from the apartment upstairs or from his own thoughts, playing his memories back at him. The song had changed, but he could still hear his mother giggle. And he could still hear that audience roar.


	6. Taking Pot-Shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another installment, and this time some secrets are revealed. As always, comments bring me joy!

One look was all he needed and Loki knew - he didn’t trust this Tony Stark. Stark, with his pink sunglasses and Miami-white suit. Stark, with his winking and his shit-eating grin and those glib showman’s comments that had been deepening Odin’s frown since this meeting had begun. Stark, with the Jericho semi-automatic in his hands.

“Now this baby,” he hefted the gun proudly. “She makes the AR-15 look like a water pistol. Sure she’s small. 6.5mm, but she shoots five times as fast as those 9mm you boys are packing. My buyers in L.A., in New York, those guys they want the big guns, kind that make you look so tough you don’t even need to shoot. But I can see you’re a man of taste. Why buy a weapon you never need to shoot when you could have one you only need to shoot once? That’s just the American way.”

“This gun is not American,” Odin pointed out. He eyed the weapon curiously.

“Right-o!” Stark snapped his fingers, somehow widening that infuriating grin. “I mean her speed, the propulsion that’s my work. But yeah, the body and the magazine I hoped you’d recognize.”

“Gungnir-181s.”

Stark smacked his hand playfully to his forehead. “So that’s how you say it. Gong-near. See Pep, I was close.” Pepper, the strawberry-haired woman perched on a crate of Jerichos, simply rolled her eyes. Tony turned back to Odin with glee.

“I’ll admit it, first time I heard about the gun that won the siege of Utgard, I didn’t believe the stories. I mean even firing as slow as the 181s did, one shot from these and you’d look like you swallowed a grenade.” He set the gun down in front of the Allfather, almost reverently. “Listen,” his eyes shone as if he was about to tell a particularly excellent joke. “You gotta tell me. That story about the guy getting shot three or four times by a Gung-gong whatever. That one where he just explodes into a fine pink mist? Is that true or is it just some bullshit you say to make yourselves look tough?”

“Of course it’s true,” Baldr bragged. It earned him an appreciative whistle from Fandral and a hoot from Volstagg. Hogun clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s no warrior better than an Aesir and no Aesir better than the Einherjar!” He repeated the old slogan and all the young men cheered. Only Huginn and Muninn were silent, watching Baldr strut. From his place in the shadows, Loki slouched against the wall. He did his best to ignore the excitement and Baldr’s posturing. His hand twitched and he wished himself elsewhere, anywhere.  
Odin regarded his son lazily, like a cat waiting for a mouse to drown in a bowl of cream. “Yes, we Aesir are great warriors all.” His voice carried over the racket. The whoops and cheers faded in its wake. “Especially those of us who’ve never seen war.” The laughter fled from Baldr’s face as the men who’d praised him a moment before drew back. 

“I must confess,” Odin continued. “I wasn’t on the front lines at Utgard.” With a calculated calm, he flipped back his eyepatch to reveal a mound of scarring cracked with milky-white. Baldr squirmed at the sight, though he had seen it now a hundred times. “Shrapnel,” the Allfather said, tapping the wound. A few cloudy drops leaked down his cheek with each strike. “But I was knee deep in Jotun blood before they carried me off the field. Tell me, my son,” he slid the eyepatch back into place. “How many did you kill at Utgard? Turn into a ‘fine pink mist’ as our American friend puts it.”

Baldr was silent. A red flush crept up his neck and he clenched his fist. 

“Speak up, boy!” Odin barked.

“None, sir,” Baldr said through gritted teeth. Odin barely waited for him to finish.

“None, yes. Because while boys your age were making warriors and corpses of themselves you were safe in your mother’s arms an ocean away. Your brother, there’s a warrior. Not much else, but a warrior.” Baldr’s eye twitched. Loki willed him to stay silent, bow his head and back away. But Baldr was Aesir born and bred, and Odin knew just how to goad his eldest son.

“This fight with Hydra,” Baldr said firmly. “That’ll be a war.”

Odin scoffed. “It’s only a war if you’re fighting men. Even Loki here is worth ten of Pierce’s thugs.” And there it was. Loki braced himself for the filthy look Baldr threw him. His son chastened, Odin turned his attention back to Stark.

“There’s the man you should be asking for war stories,” he said, gesturing for Loki to come forward. Between Huginn and Muninn flanking the door and the rage distorting Baldr’s face, there was nowhere to run. Nowhere but to Odin’s side. He peeled himself off the wall and stepped towards the Allfather. He looked down his nose at Stark, who by now seemed to regret asking anything in the first place.

“So… did it?” Tony managed at last. Loki smiled coldly.

“Did it what?”

“Did it, you know…poof! Vaporized or whatever?”

By way of an answer, Loki grabbed Stark’s Jericho. In an instant, the room erupted into shouts – panic from Stark’s men and jeers from the Aesir. Tony stumbled backwards, hands in the air. Loki only paused a moment, long enough to see Odin’s quick nod out of the corner of his eye. Then he braced the gun against his shoulder and unloaded four bullets straight through Stark’s windshield. The sound was deafening and the recoil drove him back with bruising strength. A white, downy mist filled the air where Stark’s front seat had been. After the shots, everything seemed quiet. Even Baldr was shaken. All Loki could think was how much smaller and lighter the gun seemed. Perhaps Odin had been right, all those years ago. 

A clap on the shoulder on the frozen field. “You’ll grow into it,” he’d said, as Loki struggled under the weight of the gun in his thin arms. “It’s harder when they run.”  
Slowly, Loki waded through the memory and handed the gun back to Stark.

“Poof,” he rasped. It should have pleased him to see Stark flinch, that inane grin stricken from his face. But the longer Loki looked, the more the seat stuffing still hanging in the air seemed pink, and the shards of the windshield seemed to drip with what remained of his brother Helblindi. Byleistr lay only a few feet away, the snow around him already too bright a red. It dripped right onto their mother’s pretty blue dress and she couldn’t sing over the thunder of the guns. But she could scream.

“We’ll pay the usual price,” Odin said pleasantly. “Loki? Take these to the usual place, and be sure you go alone. I don’t want any of these boys getting bright ideas.”  
Nodding, Loki slunk back to his bit of shadow by the wall. 

“And Baldr?” Odin gestured to the wreck of Tony’s car. “See that Mr. Stark gets his pick from our garage. It’s up to wise men like you and me to fix the messes war and warriors make.”

“Then fix yours,” Baldr muttered under his breath, giving Loki a dark look as he led Stark out into the sunlight.

***

Sheets of rain pounded on the windshield as Thor struggled to keep the car on the narrow gravel road. In the passenger seat beside him, Jane clutched her telescope in her lap. With a final hairpin turn they skidded onto the main road. Thor chuckled with relief as he felt solid asphalt under his tires.

“They said it was going to be a clear night,” Jane laughed. A crack of thunder made her flinch.

“Hurricane season,” Thor sighed. “Gale like that can come out of nowhere and just…” He trailed off, frowning through the rain.

“Thor?”

“Do you see that truck?”

“I don’t see anything. What truck?” Thor was already pulling over onto the shoulder of the road.

A beat-up green flatbed was parked in the bushes by the roadside. The cabin windows were fogged up, but Thor could see a black-haired shadow leaning against them.

“Give me a minute,” he told Jane, opening the door just wide enough for him to slip out. He raced through the deluge and hammered on the truck’s driver-side door. The shadow jumped, hit his head on the ceiling and scrambled for the gun on his belt.

“Loki!” Laughing, Thor wiped some of the rain from the window and waved. Inside, a disheveled Loki set aside his gun. He opened the door a crack and Thor hopped inside, shaking water out of his hair.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“Sleeping,” Loki yawned. “At least, that was the plan.”

“In this?” Thor gestured at the storm building around them. Loki shrugged. “Wanda has company.”

“So go home,” Thor said, puzzled. “This wind’s only going to get worse. Just chased me and Jane off the bluffs.”

“Jane? So that’s her name. Not very Aesir, is it?” Loki said lightly. He leaned in close and now the smell of liquor hit Thor, laced with something sweet and heavy.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you home. It’s not… far?” As the words left his lips, Thor realized he did not know where Loki lived. Not anymore. Loki’s eyes were wild and glazed over, and his ragged breathing and disjointed, jerking motions seemed unspeakable foreign to Thor. He looked around the filthy cabin and saw the stack of blankets hastily shoved to the floor. Loki laughed, that hollow laugh that made Thor want to punch him. Just to see if there was anything inside that would feel it.

“It would be a very short drive,” Loki said dryly. He nodded towards the blankets.

“Loki,” Thor didn’t have anything to say, but he couldn’t leave those words unanswered. Loki wouldn’t even give him that.

“Go,” he said softly. “Don’t keep your Jane waiting. And let me get some sleep.”

A biting gust of wind cut through the cabin’s crevices. It threatened to tip the whole truck on its side. Loki shivered and reached for his blankets. Rain dripped onto the seat from a stained patch of ceiling.

“Like hell,” Thor said. “C’mon, we’ll give you a ride back into town and you’ll sleep on my couch.”

“Don’t be a fool.”

“I’m not. It’s called being a friend.”

“What would Sif say?”

“Nothing. That I’m a decent human being. I don’t care,” Thor sighed and pinched his brow. “Let me handle Sif, okay? Just come?”

Thunder sounded once again and Loki jumped, panic in his eyes. He remembered himself a moment later, but Thor had seen the mask slip. Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door and stepped out into the howling rain, pulling Loki along behind him. They sprinted through the mud and into Thor’s car with a slam of the doors. Upon seeing Loki dripping in the back seat, Jane hugged her telescope closer to her belly.

“Jane, love, this is Loki. Loki, Jane,” Thor grinned as he started up the car.

“Loki?” Jane relaxed visibly at the name. “Hi. Thor’s told me so much about you.”

Loki raised an eloquent eyebrow. “I didn’t realize there was ‘much’ to tell.”

“Come on, how many times did you save my ass growing up? Remember Mexico? That tiny town on the border? Desando? Descando?”

“Descanso,” Loki murmured.

“That’s it! I can’t have been more than fifteen,” Thor began, turning eagerly to Jane. “And the two of us holed up in this little town, waiting for the rest of the family. We’d been there a couple weeks, sleeping on the beach. Loki had showed me how to pickpocket tourists and we’d spend our loot at the only bar in town. This one night I’d had a few, and started acting all big to these two local toughs. I don’t remember what we started fighting over – “

“If I had to guess,” Loki mumbled from the back seat, “I’d say her name might have been Maria.”

Jane smirked as Thor shot him a dirty look. “Anyhow, Loki jumps in, calming everyone down and buys them both a drink. And another. And another. Now I know we’re strapped for cash so after the fourth or fifth round I tell him to knock it off. And this sly fuck just smiles and shows me he’s stolen the wallets off of both of them and keeps right on buying them the most expensive drinks in the house with their own cash. When they passed out, we took the keys to their truck and high-tailed it out of town. We drove up and down the coast until the tank was empty.” Thor’s joy was infectious, so much so that even Loki’s eyes softened. In the light of the streetlamps, distorted by the rain, Thor could almost see a smile creasing his friend’s face.

“You taught me how to shoot then, too," Thor grinned. "Remember? We’d line old cans on the roof of that car and spend all evening taking pot-shots at them. I’m telling you, Jane, if you thought basic training was hard, wait until Loki gets it into his head to teach you something.”

Jane laughed, and Thor hazarded another glance in the rear-view mirror. Loki had dozed off, but even in sleep his brow was furrowed and strained. “I shouldn’t have left him,” Thor said softly, almost to himself.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Jane soothed. “Ever since you got discharged and came back here, it’s like there’s been a cloud over you. And it gets worse the longer we stay.”

“I promised, didn’t I? It won’t be much longer.” They stopped at a red light and Thor took Jane’s hand. “I need to do right by Sif and say goodbye and then I promise you we’re leaving this place for good.”

“Good,” Jane leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Because I’m heading to Oahu the second I’m off leave. And I’ll sneak you there in my suitcase if I have to.” She smiled, and Thor turned his head just an inch to get a proper kiss. The light turned green and the car behind them honked furiously. Thor groaned.

“Go!” Jane giggled, smacking his shoulder playfully. “There’ll be plenty of time for that when we get out of here.”

Loki didn’t stir until they pulled up alongside Jane’s building. She waved him a polite farewell before kissing Thor goodbye and stepping out into the rain. She disappeared behind the curtain of raindrops that rolled down Thor’s windshield as he drove away.

“She’s right, you know,” Loki said groggily. His eyes were red but as best as Thor could tell he was sobering up. “You should leave, the two of you. And you shouldn’t come back.”

“And you should learn to take your own goddamn advice!” Thor snapped, with more anger than he’d expected. He slammed the breaks and the car jolted to a stop. “Dammit Loki, what happened to you? You weren’t like this before… “

“Before what?” Loki iced. He grabbed the back of Thor’s seat and clawed his way forward until they were almost face to face. “There’ve been so many befores I don’t know which to pick. Before the war you never had to see? Before I knew better than to follow where Odin led? Before we spent half a lifetime dragging ourselves around the world trying to outrun his past? Or do you mean before your mother died for his crimes and he brought us here to live with his old criminals?”

“Before you gave up,” Thor said simply. “I’ve never asked you about the war… about Odin and Vigrid. But it takes a fighter to survive that. And you always fought for me. Didn’t matter if it was Einherjar, or those Red Room bastards, or even Baldr. So when did you stop fighting for yourself?”

Loki had had an answer ready. Something biting from behind a sneer. The kind of answer that ended in a broken nose and a bloodied eye. But a single word and it all fell away. Vigrid. Loki slumped back in his seat. 

“I’m not a fighter,” he breathed, struggling to keep his mind clear. “They killed all the fighters.” Bullet casings jangled in his brain and bodies fell in heaps into a pit they had dug in the snow. The ruddy slush around the edge soaked through his threadbare trousers to his bony knees. He felt the barrel press against his head and swore he heard the bullet rustle in the chamber. But the bullet never came. Loki blinked the past away and looked up at Thor. “I’m not a fighter. I’m just what’s left after the fight is done.”

Pity. That was the expression on Thor’s face. Once, Loki would have hated him for it, but he’d been prouder then. Years trapped in this town with such men as Odin’s Einherjar. Years of seeing Odin change. In all that time Loki had seen disgust on every face as he walked by. Pity was only more of the same, but cloaked in kindness. And if iduna helped him bear the mocking and the hate, surely she could numb him to the kindness just as well.

“You should have left with me,” Thor said, resigned. “You’d have helped me keep my temper and I’d still be a soldier. And you… you wouldn’t be…” Like this. It hung unsaid. Loki shook his head and waved it away.

“I’m not a good man,” he said at last. What frost giant could be? “But your father was, when I first met him. And I won’t leave him here alone for ex-Einherjar scum to feed on. I’m not much now, but I’d be less if I didn’t try to pay my debt to him.”

A bullet echoed in the chamber of the gun pressed to his head. But no one pulled the trigger. Instead, a rough, gloved hand dropped the gun into Loki’s lap. He was so cold and his fingers so numb that he nearly dropped it amid the corpses in the pit. But he held on. He held tight through all the years that stretched inexorably from that moment, and on a rain-spattered street in Florida, sobering up in the backseat, Loki held tight to that gun tucked into his belt. And in the chamber, the bullet was still spinning. Still waiting for the moment he’d let go.


	7. Storytime

Loki came to on a soft, wide couch. The knitted cushion had left red creases on his cheek. He ran his hand over them and covered his eyes, trying to block out the day. A hangover had started beating against his skull, and if he’d had anything to eat he would have retched. Painfully slowly, he forced himself to sit up and look around. This place was too bright and the windows too clean to be Wanda’s. More importantly, Wanda didn’t have a couch. As Loki struggled to remember the missing hours, cutlery clattered from down the hall. Footsteps followed and Sif appeared in the doorway, bearing two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Good, you’re awake,” she noted. She sat across from him and set one cup on the table between them. Loki hesitated.

“Please,” she said, taking a sip of her own coffee. “Like it or not, you’re a guest in my home. So drink.”

And like it she did not, but no Aesir would send a guest away without at least this kindness. Leave that to the frost giants. Loki took the cup and drank. It was heavenly.

“I’m sorry Thor didn’t warn you,” he said. The coffee soothed his sandpaper throat, but each word still grated. He coughed. “I don’t think he planned to run into me last night.”

“Oh, I know what he had planned,” Sif said bitterly. She looked to Loki for confirmation. He couldn’t meet her eye.

“I’m sorry about that, too,” he told the rings of dried coffee staining the table.

“Did you see her?” Sif said after a beat. Loki half shrugged, still tracing the pattern the circles painted. Sif continued. “She has this light, soft hair. Like a little doll. You know how I know that?” Her tone, which until now she had kept even, started growing shrill. “She leaves strands of it stuck to the back seat every time they drive out to the bluffs to fuck.” The mug was shaking in her hand. Coffee splashed spastically up the sides and onto the table. The new stains only added to the pattern.

“I haven’t seen him in weeks, you know that? As soon as he hears me wake up he leaves. And her hair gets stuck on his clothes, it gets caught in his fly and it ends up in our bed!” Sif caught herself with a shallow gasp. When she spoke again, her voice was firm and the mug sat on the table, unmoving.

“It’s a disgrace to the family. To Odin.”

“How is it Odin’s business what goes on in your bed?”

“It makes us look weak.”

“Not us. Just you.”

At this, Sif sprang to her feet. Instinctively, Loki sank back into the couch.“If you think my family will just stand by and take orders from the Allfather while his son shames me,” she began. Loki did not let her finish.

“That’s exactly what your family will do,” he said. “And when Thor leaves you, that’s still all they’ll do, because crossing Odin is death and they all know it. You’re not worth that.”

“When?” she leapt on the word. “When he leaves me? You must be joking.” Her voice faltered when Loki stayed silent. “What do you know? What did he tell you?”

“When,” Loki repeated, and this time he dared look up. Sif looked like a woman possessed, her eyes red and steely.

“You’re going to find this girl, Loki, and you’re going to tell her to pack her things and get out of town and never speak to Thor again. And she’ll listen, because you’ll tell her exactly what you’ll do to her if she doesn’t.”

“That’s not… Sif, I’m not doing – ”

“You protect Odin, right?”

Silenced, Loki took another sip of coffee. He drank too quickly and burned his tongue, but he doubted he’d have a chance to finish otherwise before Sif threw him out.

“If you don’t do this, you’ll have to protect him from me and all of my men. I’d like to see him try his war with Hydra without my family behind him.”

Loki drained his cup and stood. He raised his hands and backed towards the door. “I do Odin’s work, not yours,” he said calmly. Sif had no patience for it.

“Bullshit. You’ll slit a throat for anyone who’ll pay. It can’t cost more than a few grams of iduna for you to deal with this girl.” Sif jumped off the couch and raced after him, grasping at straws. “And I have the code for the warehouse. Ten grams should do it, don’t you think?”

Loki’s hangover chose that moment to send a bolt of pain through his brain. His knees turned to water and he felt the coffee fight its way back up. Besides the baggie in his pocket, what iduna he’d had left was in his truck several miles walk out of town. If it hadn’t washed away in the storm. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself and let his stomach settle.

“Come back here tonight and I’ll have it ready,” Sif offered. “As soon as you tell me she’s gone.”

Loki shook his head. He turned his back to Sif and inched towards the door, one hand still leaning heavily against the wall.

“You think I’m lying?” she called after him. “You walk away from me now and Odin loses half his men!”

“Look,” Loki groaned, wrestling with the doorknob. “If you want to pick a fight with Odin, you can do it without my help.” He stepped out onto the stoop, slamming the door on Sif’s reply. Tucking up his collar against the wind, he set off up the street. He didn’t notice the small blue car that had spent the night parked in front of Thor’s home as it drove around the corner behind him.

From the safety of the little sedan, Clint Barton followed Loki. He hunched his shoulders and stayed low behind the steering wheel, peeking out only at the intersections to keep his target in sight. He inched behind Loki to a bus stop, and idled as Loki shivered in the wind. He watched Loki melt into the crowd and slip onto the bus without paying, and he followed the bus for all the twelve minutes it took Loki to get kicked off. He trailed Loki to the edge of town and watched in disbelief as he kept walking. Parking by the side of the road, Clint settled in to wait. No way he was driving out to the bluffs in this weather. The narrow roads winding up the cliff were deathtraps even on clear and sunny days. With a storm in the air and gale force winds, only fools and tourists made the trek. And, apparently, Loki. Barton pulled out his phone to log that day’s findings: Thor’s house, bus, possible death on the bluffs. 

His fingers fumbled over the password, and that ridiculous app Laura had installed mocked him for it. “Incorrect password,” a feminine voice announced robotically. “Would you like to try again?” With a long-suffering sigh, Barton keyed in the right code. His phone rang just as he finished. Startled, he dropped the device and, cursing, hit his head on the steering wheel as he bent down to pick it up.

“Barton,” he reported.

“Yeah, I know.” Coulson’s exasperated voice came through. “I called Laura. She seemed surprised to hear from me, and more surprised that I expected to find you at home. Want to explain that?”

“Uhh… Because I’m not home?” Clint guessed, straining to restrain himself from swearing.

“You didn’t tell her you’ve been reassigned?”

“Phil – ”

“You’re benched,” Coulson cut him off. “I don’t care if that’s not what you wanted. I don’t care if you think you can prove me wrong.” Phil’s voice softened. “Go home. The kids miss you and Laura hasn’t seen you in months. What’s more important than that?”

“Loki’s gone up to the bluffs again.” The moment the words were out Clint knew they had been the wrong thing to say. He could just imagine Coulson rubbing his temples, searching for some way to explain to him how stupid he was being.

“It’s the third time this week,” he pressed on. “Phil, look at any map of the currents and they’ll show you that a body thrown down from there will wash up in the north harbour, just like all of your CIs have for the past eight months. What else would he doing out there? With this wind you’d have to be crazy to follow him. It’s the perfect cover!”

“Three times this week?” Coulson checked. “There haven’t been any new bodies.”

“It’s the storm. It’s blown them off course, but they’ll wash up as soon as it clears. You need to look for missing persons reports, anyone on your CI shortlist.”

“And you need to go home,” Phil said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Clint, being Clint, argued.

“You didn’t see what I saw. He stuck that Volke guy like a pig and slit his throat like it was nothing.”

The response came after a calculated pause. “All I know is that you were dumb enough to get too close to a brawl and get marked.” Phil spoke in a low voice, choosing each word with unnerving caution. “Loki is my last CI, our last chance to get Odin. And I know that’s why you haven’t gone to Rogers or Fury.”

“He’s your last one because he made it that way!” Clint exploded. “Everyone who wanted to help us ended up floating in the harbour, and now Loki’s using you to pick off his enemies without getting his hands dirty.”

“I don’t care,” Coulson continued in the same level tone. “If that’s what you think. But this isn’t your case and trusting Loki isn’t your call.”

“Thought you said you never trust CIs,” Barton muttered, hanging up the phone. He tossed it onto the back seat and turned back to the bluffs and the empty, windswept road. Loki would come back, and he would slip up. And Clint would be there to see it. All he had to do was wait.

Halfway across town, in the parking lot of Natasha’s motel, Coulson shoved his phone back into his pocket. He’d underestimated how much trouble Barton could be when he wanted. Still, there were more pressing things to worry about. He waltzed into the lobby with the confidence only decades of bullshitting could bring and flashed the receptionist a friendly smile.

“Well good morning,” he said, smoothly glancing at her name tag. “Reena. Listen, I have a favour to ask. My friend, Natasha, she told me to meet her here but,” he chuckled haplessly. “She didn’t give me the room number. Could you…?”

“Room 16,” Reena said in a bored voice. She pointed, and Phil followed her finger down the hallway. Room 16 was the third door down, scuffed and painted a faded green. One hand on his gun, Phil knocked.

Behind the door, something scuffled. Then a lock clicked, a chain clinked and the door opened a crack. Natasha regarded him from the doorstep.

“You’re not FBI,” Phil blurted out. The ghost of a smile curled up her lips.

“No.”

If she was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it. Judging by her stance and her hidden right hand, she was ready to end this with a bullet if it came to that. 

“What’s the Red Room?” he hazarded. “And what do you want with Odin Borson?”

“Nothing you want to hear,” she answered. “Go back to your desk, look the other way. Everything here will be over in a couple of days.” She made to close the door, but Phil shoved his foot against it. Natasha tensed. Phil heard the click of the safety turning off.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed. He pulled out his gun and set it on the ground with slow, wide movements. Then he stepped back. Natasha kept the door open. “How are you planning on getting to Odin, exactly? His house is a fortress, and any of his guys would take a bullet for him.”

“Even your Loki?”

“It’s a better way to go than what Odin’d do, if he thought he couldn’t trust him.” Natasha’s shoulders slumped and Phil seized his chance. “I can help you,” he offered. “We’re on the same side.”

“I doubt that very much. You’re not on a wanted list,” she pointed out. “If you knew all I know about Odin Borson, nothing in this world would stop you from driving to his home right now and emptying your gun into his brain, men or no men.”

The hairs on Coulson’s neck stood on end, but he didn’t even blink. “Is that your plan? That’s what the Red Room is?” Natasha nodded. Coulson forced a smile. “Something I should have done a long time ago. Look, you can’t do this alone. Let me help.”

At last Natasha stepped aside and invited him in. If she slipped a handgun out of sight as Phil entered, he pretended not to notice. 

“We didn’t start out this way,” Natasha said wistfully. “We used to help people – the ones like Farbauti Utgarda, who just wanted to get away from the war. The Red Room smuggled hundreds of Jotnar out of the Nine Realms and helped us find new homes in whatever country would have us. I was only three or four when they got me out. That was just a month before the Einherjar took over parliament and declared an independent Asgard. I was on the last convoy allowed across the border. I grew up in a foster home run by the Red Room, just outside of Moscow. And every day I remember them telling me, justice will come. The war will end and we will have justice.”  
Phil listened in stunned silence. As Natasha continued, he sank down onto the bed.

“Well the war ended and instead of justice we started hearing rumours. That Einherjar soldiers were living free in England, in America, even some in the Nine Realms. Pardoned. And we listened for any word of what had happened to those Jotnar who hadn’t escaped, but there were only as many stories as survivors.” Natasha held out empty hands. “That’s when we knew we’d never get our justice. So we settled for revenge.”

“You hunt Aesir.” It dawned on Coulson in a sickeningly clear breath. Natasha shook her head.

“Only those who fought with the Einherjar. And those who forget the war is over.”

“That’s why you were looking for Loki.” The pieces of the blood-stained puzzle clicked together. “Utgarda was one of yours, and when he was murdered you thought Odin had ordered the hit to… finish the job?” The puzzle splintered apart. “But Loki’s a Jotun, isn’t he? Part-jotun, anyway.”

“People do strange things to survive,” was the only comfort Natasha offered. “He would have been at the siege of Utgard, and at one of the camps afterwards. Vigrid, judging by those numbers on his wrist. That’s where Odin was a guard. You wouldn’t believe the kind of loyalty a bit of kindness, a bit of extra food can earn in a place like that. He would have been stupid not to rough up a few Jotnar, maybe even kill, in exchange for that protection. And after the first one it doesn’t take much to keep going.”

“That can’t… he would’ve been, what? Fourteen, fifteen?” At the start. Maybe seventeen, maybe eighteen. It didn’t sound so young anymore. And he could picture Loki’s thin, hungry face behind the scope of a rifle. A chill ran up his spine as he realized what Loki must have realized on that first day in the car with Natasha.

“Then why did you leave him alive? You must have known he wouldn’t help you get to Odin.”

“Revenge is enough for some people,” Natasha mused. “But I… Do you know how many countries recognize what happened to the Jotnar?” she asked instead. Coulson shook his head helplessly. “Three. Three countries where they call it what it was, a genocide. Three countries where Einherjar could be tried for war crimes, if we ever found proof. But all we have are rumours from the few who survived Utgard. People – children – already half-starved to death forced to dig their own graves in the snow. And the camps where they put those who surrendered. Ginnungagap, Helvegen. Vigrid. I grew up terrified of those names, but you and the rest of the world have never heard them. I want you to hate and fear those names as much as I do, because then they might be last names we have to hate or fear. So I promised myself, if I ever found someone who’d survived, who’d seen the camps, or guarded them, or killed the prisoners when the war was lost, I’d make him tell his story and I’d record it. Then we’d have our proof.”

“Loki’ll talk to me,” Phil assured her. Natasha looked skeptical. “Let me try. I’ll get his story.”

“People have died to keep this quiet.”

“Not Loki,” Phil said ruefully. “He’s a survivor. We just need him to believe that he’s got a better chance of surviving with us than with Odin.” He paused, examining Natasha’s expression. It was inscrutable. “Does he?” Phil asked at last, the question heavy on his lips. “Does he have a better chance of surviving with us?”

“He has a chance for justice,” Natasha said after a long pause. “He doesn’t deserve anything more than that.”


	8. Shooting Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update for my handful of lovely readers!

Loki waited in the hallway outside of Odin’s office, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. There was a black bench against the wall beside him. The sleek leather cushion looked inviting, but he didn’t dare sit down. It wasn’t like Odin to be late, certainly not when he called Loki. There was only ever one reason Odin called for Loki.

Unbidden, the images flashed through his mind. His mother. His brothers Byleistr and Helblindi, still running. The gun, still shaking in his scrawny arms, his ears ringing with the cries of the bodies still kneeling behind him, pleading, still alive. Trapped forever in their last hellish days. A new face swam into view through that old cloud of guilt. An old man’s face, twitching as he bled out through the gash on his throat onto the ice of Marion Lake. No. Loki dug his knuckles into his eyes until Farbauti Utgarda faded from his thoughts. He would not regret that. Ever other body he had left, call them butchered, murdered, slaughtered, he would bear the guilt well past his dying day. But Farbauti was different. Farbauti had got what he deserved.

A door banged open at the other end of the hallway. Startled, Loki ducked out of the way as Baldr stormed down the hardwood floor. Odin followed close behind him, equally enraged.

“Respect?” he bellowed. “Respect has to be earned, boy. And not by running off like a hot-headed fool!”

“Then give me a chance to earn it,” Baldr argued, turning to face his father. Neither Borson paid Loki any mind, caught up as they were with matters of Aesir and honour. “Let me get the Jerichos Stark brought and lead the charge against Hydra tonight!”

“Use your head!” Odin shouted. He drew up inches in front of his son. “You are my heir. When Fandral leads that fight he’ll have a bloodbath to his name. Every cop and Hydra scum left in this city will be looking for him. I need you here, safe and by my side, ready to lead when I can no longer.”

“I’ve never even fired a gun! Not at a man, not in a fight. Hell, the last time I was in a fight I was fifteen and Thor would’ve killed me if Loki hadn’t stepped in! How are the men supposed to respect that?”

“They’ll respect your mind.”

“And will you? Even after all his failures, Thor is still your favourite son. You’d still do anything to bring him back into the fold, the one you wish you could have made your heir.”

“But I chose you. So be the man you were meant to be and leave the dirty work to those who are good for nothing better.” Odin nodded towards the other end of the hall, where Loki had retreated. Baldr turned, scowling, and noticed him at last. Too angry for words, he stalked away from his father and through to the front door, letting it slam shut behind him. All at once the strength seemed to leave Odin and he collapsed onto the bench. Loki wanted to hate him, to blame him. But the anger wouldn’t come.

“Sit,” Odin sighed, patting the bench beside him. Even his voice sounded old. Loki sat.

“He’s not wrong,” Loki broke the silence. “They’d rather follow Thor.”

“And which would you choose?”

Loki shrugged. “I follow you.”

“They’ve both grown up too soft,” Odin spat. “Even seeing what those frost giants at the Red Room did to their mother wasn’t enough to turn them into men. You’ll need to protect them, when I’m gone. I know I can trust you to do that.”

Loki couldn’t help the warmth that filled him at the sound of those words. Just like that, his folly with Utgarda seemed forgiven. The shrewder part of his mind kicked in. Loki swallowed his joy and waited to hear how exactly he would have to earn that trust this time.

“Sif came to speak with me this morning,” Odin went on. He scanned Loki’s face out of the corner of his eye. “She explained her situation and asked for my help. I trust you’ll be able to handle the girl.”

Loki schooled his features into blankness. “Once, you would have let Thor go. Frigga would have.” He knew he was taking liberties far beyond what was safe. “You said yourself he’s too soft for this life. If he stays, the Einherjar will mold and twist him like they’ve done to you and what will be left then?” Loki cut himself short, realizing what he’d said. He cast a furtive glance at Odin, but the Allfather did not seem angry. If anything, he looked amused.

“You think I’m not the man I was,” Odin finished for him. “Tell me, Loki, why do you think you’re still alive?”

Loki had no answer. He had often wondered the same. As usual, Odin stepped in to tell him what he ought to think, what he would have known to think if he hadn’t been raised by a Jotun and a Jotun’s whore.

“You live because I allow it. I gave you your life in Vigrid and every day since, when my men and my son ask me why I suffer a frost giant to live, I give it back to you again. Am I not still that man?”

“You are.”

“And you still repay me, every day, by protecting me and mine?”

“I do.”

“Then what has changed?” Everything, Loki thought. Everything they had protected each other from. The reason Odin let him live. The reason every day he decided to stay. Instead, he stayed silent and in his silence Odin heard what he wanted to hear.

“Thor must be protected from his own weakness. And that starts with this woman Jane. And we,” Odin the father stopped speaking and Odin the Allfather took over. Age and frailty were pushed aside and he rose to tower over Loki, exactly as fierce as he remembered.

“We need to prepare for Hydra. They won’t go down quietly, and we’ll need Sif and her family on our side. Whatever the cost.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. Loki understood. He stood, giving a little bow as he left. He still remembered the way to Jane’s building. He hoped that she would not be home.

***

Clint had dozed off in his car, parked across the street from the Borson home. The now-familiar sound of Loki’s engine sputtering to life roused him with a start. The green truck was halfway down the road by the time Clint got going, and he skidded violently around the corner to keep up. After only a few blocks it became apparent that Loki wasn’t headed for the bluffs, or Wanda’s or any of his other regular haunts. Trusting his gut, at the next red light Clint reached into the backseat and grabbed his holster and the Glock 22 inside it. Loki pulled into an alley behind a squat beige apartment building, nearly grazing the fire escape. Clint drove past him and parked at the corner a block down. He watched as Loki disappeared into the building, not missing the bulge of the gun under his jacket. Kicking his feet up onto the dashboard, Clint noted the time, address and route they had driven. All too soon, there was nothing left to do but wait.

The street wandered by him as people slowly crept outside to enjoy the rare sunny day. Clint barely noticed them. He scanned the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Loki. There were only five floors, only twenty-five windows. He rolled down his own window. The smell of the sea so close to the docks reminded him how long it had been since he’d had a day out of his car, on the beach, with Laura and the kids. Soon, he promised himself. He’d find what he was looking for.

He heard the clatter of the plastic blinds first. His eyes flickered to a third-floor window just in time to see something hit the glass. The blinds parted from the impact as a woman crashed into them. Loki’s face, contorted with rage, was visible just over her shoulder. An instant later it was gone, and the blinds swung back into place as Loki pulled the woman back into the living room. She left a streak of red on the glass as she went. Spitting curses, Clint grabbed his gun and sprinted into the building. He skidded to a stop in front of the locked door. A line of buzzers stuck out of the wall like jagged teeth. Five rooms on the third floor. Five names, none of them Aesir-sounding. Furiously, Clint pounded on the glass of the door. No one came. Checking behind him to make sure the steps were empty, Clint pulled out his handgun. Grabbing the barrel, he struck the center of the pane. It shattered, and two more blows cleared away the fragments. An alarm squealed to life. It screamed as Clint thundered up the stairs. A small red bulb flashed in time with the ringing. It still wasn’t loud enough to drown out the gunshot.

Clint was only on the second floor. The sound hit him like a punch to the gut. He doubled his pace and reached the third floor with a stitch in his side. It wasn’t hard to guess which room – it was the only door still closed. Clint elbowed his way through the neighbours gathered in the hall and kicked it down.

“Stay back,” he shouted, gun at the ready. “SHPD, put down your weapon and put your hands where I can see them.”

The door opened into a bare living room. Clint came to an abrupt stop. Her hands were right where he could see them, lying palms up on the thin grey carpet. Red puddled around her, pumping out of the hole in her throat. A bloody constellation was splattered on the blinds, swaying dizzily in the breeze from the now-open window. Clint forced himself to step over the body and look outside. He was just in time to see Loki clear the last rung of the fire escape and scramble into his truck. As the car sped away in a green blur, Clint holstered his gun. He turned back to the woman. Her eyes were still open, far too wide. He should have been faster. With a stifled yell, he kicked the side of the couch. The cheap fabric gave way and he tore straight through to the wooden slats beneath. He should have been faster.

The piercing alarm was still ringing and the neighbors had started creeping in, peering through the door. Clint drove them back. The police would be here soon, but not soon enough. He pulled his phone and dialed.

“Rogers,” Steve’s voice crackled through impatiently. Clint cut to the chase.

“It’s Barton. I’ve got your guy, the one killing all of Coulson’s CIs. Just saw him gun down a woman on East and Bayside.”

“Is he still there?” Steve’s response was punctuated by the scraping of a chair. He was already rushing out into the parking lot.

“No, he ran.” The wind picked up, flicking a few drops of blood from the blinds onto the carpet. Barton shuddered. “But I know where he’ll go.” He rattled off Wanda’s address. After so many nights waiting outside, he knew it by heart. “Meet me there. And don’t tell Coulson,” he added quickly. “Not until we’ve got the bastard.” In the instant before Steve hung  
up, Barton heard the blare of the squad car siren. There hadn’t ever been a sweeter sound.

***

Loki drove like a madman, careening down the street in a blind panic. The alarm was still ringing in his ears. He slammed the brakes hard at the intersection, narrowly avoiding the oncoming traffic. The jolt flung his gun from where he’d thrown it on the passenger’s seat. It landed on the floor with a dull thud. Loki stared at it. He couldn’t look away. Even when the light changed and the cars behind him began to honk, he stayed frozen, transfixed by the weapon.

She hadn’t listened. He’d tried to tell her to go, but she hadn’t listened. He’d tried to tell her to leave and take Thor with her, tried to explain what would happen. She’d picked up her phone and started dialing. He’d pulled out his gun. Blood on the window. Then the alarm had gone off and he’d panicked. Out of habit, his finger had already been on the trigger. The bullet spun in the chamber. Blood on the carpet turned into bodies in the snow.

Loki had to remind himself to breathe, to push back the other faces – so many faces – bleeding on his brain. Jane’s face, not the others. He tried to focus on that. Slowly, he pressed down on the gas and rolled through the intersection. Jane’s face, not mother’s, not Byleistr’s, not Helblindi’s. It didn’t help. Her eyes were open so wide, big enough to swallow him as he fell.

A flash of red and blue brought him back. He was on Wanda’s street, though he barely remembered getting there. A police car was parked in front of her building. Loki slowed to a crawl, watching as Rogers wrestled a half-dressed Fandral into the back seat. Barton followed close behind. In one hand he held a zip-tied bag of iduna. He dragged Wanda behind him with the other. The handcuffs clinked as she walked. They would chafe, and Loki couldn’t stand the thought of red on her perfect skin. She didn’t struggle when they tossed her into the back seat. Fandral was still yelling. Beside him, she seemed so very small. Loki looked away. He reached the end of the street and turned, veering out of sight before Barton could look up. Thor would have stopped the car, knocked Barton and Rogers to the ground and grabbed his woman then and there. Thor would have jumped between Jane and the gun, and bashed Loki’s head in for daring to shoot. But he wasn’t Thor. As Wanda grew smaller in his rear-view mirror and the guilt threatened to drown him, the thought of finding Thor grew more and more appealing. At least that way, there would be only one more body.


	9. Liquor and Loss

News travelled quickly in the Aesir part of town. Where was Fandral? Cops took him. What’d they get him on? Found him at Wanda’s with a heap of drugs. Why were they looking at Wanda’s in the first place? Looking for Loki. Why? Man, I don’t know. Pick a reason. Word is he shot some girl.

Thor threw his glass onto the floor. It smashed on top of the shards of several others. Ratatosk had stopped sweeping them up after the third. Nervously, he slid the rest of the bottle across the bar.

“On the house,” he squeaked, before scurrying into the back. Thor took a long, burning swig.

‘Some girl’s’ name had come out early that morning, after they’d IDed the body. Jane Foster, Specialist second class, radio intelligence. Stationed at Schofield Barracks Army Base, scheduled to fly out in a week. He’d already had the tickets printed. His ‘some girl’, who was supposed to be in his arms pointing out stars whose names he couldn’t remember and constellations he couldn’t make out but he pretended to see because it made her smile. Tears pricked at his eyes. He burned them away with another draught of topali.  
He heard the door to the bar swing open, and footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. It was still far too early for the usual crowd. The footsteps drew closer.

“It’s unwise to be in my company now,” Thor slurred. Loki ignored the warning. “They told me you were here,” he said, clearing his throat. Thor turned slowly, a firm grip on the bottle. Seeing his flashing eyes, Loki raised his hands.

“Get out,” Thor rumbled.

“I’m not going to do that,” Loki said gently. Instead of answering, Thor picked up the bottle and smashed it against the edge of the counter. Loki flinched. His eyes shot down to the dripping blades of glass left in Thor’s hand.

“Now,” Thor growled.

“I told you to run,” Loki hissed. “I tried to stop this.”

Thor stood, and Loki nearly tripped over his own feet backing up. “You shot her.”

“By accident! She went for her phone and this alarm went off,” Loki began to ramble. He darted behind a table, putting it between himself and Thor. “Listen, I know you want to kill me. That’s your right. But – wait!” He shouted, pitch rising as Thor shoved the table aside.

“Why did you do it?” Thor asked, his voice stiff. “Why would you do that to me, Loki?”

“Odin– ”

“No,” Thor cut him off. “Don’t give me that. Did he have a gun to your head, or what? You had a choice and you shot her. Why?”

“He told me to!” Loki shouted. Thor threw the broken bottle square at his head. The drink hadn’t done much to damage his aim. Loki barely managed to jump aside. A few glass splinters struck his cheek as the bottle shattered on the wall behind him.

“You could’ve lied!” Thor sobbed. “Driven her somewhere out of town and said it was done. You could have told me and we’d have gone together.”

“He’d never let you leave!” Loki’s heels clicked against the wall. He locked eyes with Thor and struggled to keep his voice steady. “I tried. I tried to tell her to leave but she wouldn’t go. The more I said the more stubborn she… I got angry. I heard the alarm and I panicked and my hand was on the gun,” his voice shook near the end. “I didn’t want her dead. I didn’t want any of them dead. You have to believe me.”

For a single, blissful breath, Thor seemed to calm. His shoulders slumped, his face softened, and he looked at Loki with that same sort of pity he’d often shown. But this time there was no kindness in his eyes, and his lips curled into a disgusted sneer.

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, almost too softly to hear. “I just don’t care.”

Loki should have seen the punch coming, but vain hope had blinded him and Thor struck him smack in the jaw. His head cracked against the wall. Sick and vision swimming, Loki tried to block the blows that followed. He dropped to the ground and half-rolled, half-crawled towards the door through the broken glass. A kick to his side sent him sprawling out onto the street.

Ignoring the startled gasps of pedestrians, Loki pulled himself up against the wall, panting. He set his mouth in a bloody grimace as Thor stomped through the doorway after him. When Thor stepped forward, loading his next punch, Loki went low. Throwing himself against Thor’s knees, he sent him sprawling backwards into the bar. Thor broke his fall, and cursed as glass cut into his palms. It gave Loki just enough time to draw his knife.

“Don’t!” he exclaimed, when Thor made to get up. Loki could still feel himself swaying from side to side from the blow to his head. He struggled to keep a sweaty grip on the knife. Thor noticed. He sprang up and lunged for Loki, smacking the knife aside. It grazed his arm as it fell from Loki’s hands. Thor grabbed Loki’s throat, crushing his windpipe as he drove them both back onto the street. This time, it was more than startled gasps that greeted them. A few people screamed, a car swerved out of the way and somewhere someone’s phone camera flashed. “Put that away!” Ratatosk chittered from the depths of his ruined bar. “Who are you calling? Put down that phone!”

Thor heard none of it, only the pounding of his blood and the rattle of Loki’s breaths beneath his fists. They fell in a heap at the edge of the sidewalk. Loki’s head hung limply in the gutter, his face a bloody ruin. That wasn’t enough for Thor. Almost in slow motion, he raised a fist and brought it down on Loki’s side. He felt a rib snap with a sickening crunch. The next blow landed on his brow, the next slipped on his jaw and struck his collarbone. After that, Thor lost track of where he hit. A firm hand gripped his shirt collar and pulled him back.

“Let’s go,” Ratatosk’s reedy voice weaseled in through the bloodlust. “No son of Odin’s getting arrested in front of my bar.”

The deafening pounding in his ears receded and now Thor could hear the sirens blare. Numbly, he let himself be dragged off the street moments before the police cruiser appeared. 

As Thor ran through the bar and out the back door, the gutter where Loki lay ran red.

***

Drip. Drip, drip. He couldn’t be sure where the sound was coming from. Everything was black and cold. He was floating in the void, choking on the nothing that enveloped him. Drip. Drip. His fingers traced the scratched plastic of a table top. Handcuffs rattled when he tried to reach too far. Loki opened his eyes. The halogen lights in the concrete cell blinded him, and he nearly blacked out from the pain. Too bright, far too bright. His head throbbed and his breath came in gasps through his abused throat. The world wouldn’t stop spinning. Drip. Small red droplets blossomed on the white plastic and Loki realized he was still bleeding, though where from he couldn’t quite say. He raised his hands to his face, feeling for the wounds, but the chains jerked him back. Frustrated, he kicked the table. The tug of the handcuffs jolted his shoulders, only making the pain worse.

Someone was still asking him questions. They were muted and far away, and their face slipped in and out of focus. Rogers, a brief moment of clarity supplied. He set a slim folder down on the table and opened it. Jane lay bleeding out on the front page. Loki closed his eyes. 

“I know you were there,” Rogers said harshly. “I know you pulled the trigger. Barton saw you. All I want is to hear you say it. Why she’s dead.”

And Loki wanted to, so much so that it burned him. But if he told him about Jane, about Rumlow and all that Rogers wanted to know, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from telling him about the others. He’d have to give names to all those bodies in the snow, and if he gave them names he’d have to remember each and every single one. And if he remembered, he feared he might go mad.

“She’s dead because there’s a bullet in her throat,” he said instead, rolling the words around his swollen jaw. As casually as he could, he glanced down at the photo and at Rogers’ furious face. “I thought that was quite obvious.” Rogers looked about ready to hit him. Loki truly hoped he would not. He already felt like his head was splitting. For once, luck seemed to be on his side. Before Rogers could even open his mouth, the door swung wide open and banged against the wall. A panting Phil Coulson dashed into the room.

“Rogers,” he wheezed, jerking his thumb towards the hallway. “Talk. Now.”

“It can wait,” Steve threw back. He turned away from Coulson and loomed over Loki. Phil lurched forward and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing here?” Coulson took another look at Loki’s bruised and broken form, the blood still dripping steadily on the table. “He should be in the ER.”

“After,” Steve shrugged him off. “We’re not done here. Not until he gives a statement.”

“What are you gonna do, make him bleed on it?” Phil exploded. “He’s barely conscious!”

“Barton saw – ”

“I know what Barton thinks he saw! Do you know he’s been put on suspension? Do you know he’s spent his free time stalking this man? We asked Ms. Foster’s neighbors, none of them remember seeing this guy. It’s just Barton’s word, and he’s the one who broke into the building with a gun and kicked in her door!”

“Are you saying – ”

“I’m just stating the facts,” Coulson said firmly. “We don’t have nearly enough grounds to hold this guy here, not his condition. Get out of here, call an ambulance. You can question him after he’s got a few goddamn stitches.”

Rogers leaned possessively over the table, the file and his prisoner.

“He’s one of yours, right? One of your CIs with Odin?” he accused. “Barton and I’ve been talking. What happens if I go to Fury and tell him how much you’re willing to cover up for your guys, how much you let them get away with?”

At this, Coulson couldn’t help but laugh. “Go right ahead,” he snickered at Steve’s shocked expression. “God, I forget how much of a boy scout you can be. You think Fury doesn’t know how this town works?”

“Maybe it’s time to change that,” Steve said bitterly. In answer, Coulson gestured at Loki.

“This isn’t the way to start. You want to do better than us? Fine. The job is serve and protect. Everyone. So go call a fucking ambulance.” With that, Phil folded up the file and handed the heap of papers back to Rogers. Steve took it, scowling, and stalked out of the cell. Coulson heard him dialing the hospital before he closed the door.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “They’ve really done a number on you this time.” Loki sagged in his chair, chains and handcuffs limp against the table. A shadow’s shadow, Coulson couldn’t help but think.

“Water?” he offered, already stepping towards the door and the vending machines beyond. Loki didn’t even shake his head. He just sat, staring numbly at the table. Coulson sat down opposite him.

“Here,” he pulled over a box of tissues and nudged it into Loki’s hands. It smeared the droplets on the table into short pink streaks. Stiffly, Loki tugged a handful of tissues out of the box. He had to bend over nearly double to reach his face. The result was a contorted sort of bow as he dabbed at his wounds. The tissues came away bright red.

“Where’s Wanda?” he mumbled when he had finished. Coulson furrowed his brow. “Who?”

“The hooker,” Loki grimaced. “The one you nabbed with Fandral.” The one with the slender, perfect hands. The one with the red half-smile. The one who smelled like cinnamon and sweat.

“Still in lock-up downtown,” Coulson remembered. “I’d say a few more weeks in holding before she sees a judge.”

“For what?”

“Possession. There were maybe eight kilos at her place.”

“Fandral’s.”

Coulson made a helpless gesture. “Doesn’t matter. She’ll get a fine for soliciting that she can’t pay and end up in jail for not paying it.”

“Pull some strings,” Loki hissed. Finally, he looked up at Coulson and his eyes were fever bright. “You’ve gotten me out of worse than that.”

“I can’t get you out of this,” Coulson admitted, but Loki waved him away with a clink of his cuffs. “Wanda,” he said, shaking his head. “Get her out. Please. I can tell you…” he paused, scrabbling through his scrambled brains for something of value. “There’s weapons. Jericho semi-automatics. Odin’s saving them for a fight with Hydra, maybe two hundred of them. I’ll tell you where,” he bargained. 

“Loki,” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not… I can’t just – ”

“Please.” It was barely a whisper. “Please. Just let her go.”

Coulson found himself at a loss for words. Whatever games they played had ended the moment he’d opened that door, Natasha’s stories on a sickening replay in his mind. For the first time, Loki wasn’t a means to an end or a tool to be used. For the first time, Coulson saw a man. It was not a comforting thought. 

“I’ll try,” he said at last. Loki seemed to bow in gratitude, though he might have just been swaying from the pain. “The Jerichos?” Coulson prompted abruptly. With a shaky hand, he scrawled down the warehouse number Loki gave. Silence swallowed them when he put down the pen. Loki dropped his gaze.

“You could still testify,” Coulson added lamely. “Against Odin. You could put him away. Lord knows it’s not like you’ve got a lot to lose.” But Loki only shook his head. Natasha’s voice pounded at the sides of Coulson’s skull.

“Why are you protecting him?” he exploded. “After everything he did to you? I know about the war, I know about Vigrid.” The word hung in the air and Coulson barely dared to breathe. He wanted Loki to get angry, to furrow his brow at an unfamiliar name. He wanted Natasha to have made a mistake. Instead, the silence deepened.

“Did you hear me?” Coulson probed. “I know about Vigrid.” Nothing. A crumpled tissue added to the pile of white and red. “I know what he made you do. What he’s still making you do, with killing Farbauti Utgarda.” At this, Loki made a strained sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough.

“You know why I killed Utgarda?” he said softly. “Would you tell me? It all seemed very clear then, but it’s grown… I wanted him to know what he left us to, but how could he know? I wanted him to suffer, but I must have forgotten how many nights I dreamed of a quick, clean death in the snow. And what changed? He still escaped, I still haven’t. Why should he care what happened to his children and his Aesir whore?”

“Natasha cares,” Coulson cut in. “I care. You can’t just keep the things you saw and… did. You can’t just keep them secret and let Odin go free.”  
“After everything else I’ve lost, am I not even to have my secrets?” Loki wondered sadly.

“It’s bigger than you,” Coulson pressed. “He’s a war criminal. People deserve to know.”

Loki chuckled dryly. “If people got what they deserved, I’d be dead a hundred times over. I was supposed to be, you know,” he said conversationally. “Even after all I’d done… after all the graves were dug. We knew the Nine Realms army would take the camp by night. They couldn’t be allowed find any trace of what the Einherjar had done.” Bodies piling up, hot blood melting the snow from five hundred and five identical holes. “When we’d finished, they told me to kneel.” The red slush soaking through his clothes, right at the edge of the pit. He was close enough to see their faces. “Odin had the gun to the back of my head. He had his orders.” 

Loki clasped his hands together to stop them shaking. The handcuffs still twitched against the plastic table. “He didn’t pull the trigger. He gave me the gun and we ran for the trees. We kept running until we found where he’d put his wife and sons. And then we still kept running from the Red Room.” In spite of himself, Loki smiled at the memory. Coulson felt his stomach turn. “He called me his brother, then. Called me a soldier. Said I’d saved him and he’d saved me. He was a good man, until they killed his wife and he found his old Einherjar here.” Loki concluded with a deep breath. “Vigrid means ‘the place where the world ends’. After you’ve seen it end every day, you’re grateful for what’s left.”

The door to the cell opened, and Rogers came in with the keys to the handcuffs. An EMT stomped in behind him on steel toed boots. Coulson said nothing as they led Loki away. The lights of the hallway seemed to bright on the white tiled floor. When he looked down at them, he couldn’t help but see the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a quick thing: I've got the end of this story basically written out now and I'm looking for some Loki-filled prompts to keep me busy when I have writer's block on my original fiction. If you like the way I write or would like to see a particular Loki-centric one-shot or short, post a prompt in the comments below and I'll see what I can do.


	10. Busting a Gut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there - looks like this week is going to be busy at work, so I probably won't be able to update until Saturday or so. Until then, here is a short but eventful installment. And trust me, I promise that cliffhanger will pay off :)

The ambulance had stopped. Loki was almost sure of it. First, they had stopped, then the driver had gone out. Then the other EMT, then the officer sitting beside Loki. Whether that had been minutes ago or hours he couldn’t say. All he knew for sure was that he was here, strapped down to a stretcher, still handcuffed. And yet he was just as sure that snow was falling, that he was running, and that behind him guns were firing. He closed his eyes and couldn’t say which place felt more real. 

The driver’s side door opened suddenly, sending a shudder through the ambulance’s frame. Bright sparks flashed behind Loki’s eyes at the motion and at the noise that followed. Voices. Rougher and louder than the EMTs had been. The engine started and Loki let his head fall back.

“Are you sure about this, boss?” a man rumbled from the front seat. “He looks dead.”

“He’s not dead,” the driver answered confidently.

“He looks it,” a third voice threw in grimly.

“Dammit, Hogun, he’s not dead,” the driver snapped. “Here, Volstagg. Take the wheel.”

The ambulance sped and slowed erratically as they switched seats. The road turned and the driver lurched into the back, catching himself on the stretcher. Loki’s eyes snapped open. Baldr’s face hung over him, sagging with relief.

“You’re not dead,” he breathed. Then, louder, he called over his shoulder. “We’re good, boys. Head for the docks.” With a self-satisfied smirk, he sat down on the bench that ran up the side of the car and began unfastening the straps binding Loki.

“What are you doing?” Loki slurred, somehow still managing to sound disdainful. “Where…?”

“Where’s my father keeping the Jerichos?” Baldr asked, almost cheerfully. 

Loki eyed him cautiously. “Where I put them.”

“And where’s that?”

“Where he told me to.” 

Anger flared on Baldr’s face. With that twitch in his brow and that curl to his lip, he could have been Thor. Then the moment passed, and a sly sliver of malice slid back behind his eyes – the spitting image of his father. 

“You can’t imagine how often I’ve told him to get rid of you,” he said. “Not that you haven’t had your uses, but I’ve always thought he was mad to trust you.” He fiddled with the strap. It tightened just enough to bite into Loki’s arm.

“But I think I’ve figured it out. He doesn’t trust you, or your honour or your loyalty or any of that shit. He trusts that you’ll do anything to survive, so he makes sure that ‘anything’ is whatever he needs you to do. And if I’m going to be his heir, I better learn how to use you, too.”

To Loki’s surprise, Baldr unbuckled the last strap as he finished. He pulled Loki up and reached for his handcuffs, producing a pin and a slender Allen key. He started picking the lock, cursing at potholes as the ambulanced bumped down the street. Loki raised an eyebrow at his efforts, then winced as the pin slipped out of the lock and jabbed his hand. Baldr pursed his lips and tried again. Volstagg slammed the breaks and pin scratched Loki’s wrist while the Allen key clattered to the floor. Baldr fumed.

“All good?” Hogun called.

Baldr ignored him, jimmying the pin back into the lock. This time, when it jumped out, Loki was prepared and jerked out of the way to save himself the scrape. Baldr glowered at his fallen tools.

“You know,” Loki suggested. “This would have been much easier if you’d taken the cop’s keys before you shot her.”

“We didn’t shoot her,” Baldr snipped back. “We waited until you got to the hospital and I took an EMT’s jacket and told them we’d got a call to bring you back to the station. The drivers were done their shift and the cop’d done her job and just wanted to go home. So we took you and the car and let them go. Less of a mess.”

“Clever,” Loki said lightly. Baldr glared at him, daring him to mock. Loki raised his bound hands, palms out. “It was. Though I’m sure whatever you’re planning with the Jerichos is much less so.”

“Where are they?” Baldr said harshly.

“If the Allfather wanted you to know, you wouldn’t have to ask me.” Loki leaned forward, elbows over his knees as he studied Baldr’s expression. “What is your plan, exactly? Are you and your drinking buddies there going to take on all of Hydra single handed and come home heroes?” Baldr looked down, abashed, and Loki decided his guess hadn’t been too far off. “Stick to being clever,” he said, not unkindly. “I wish I had.” 

“That’s the difference between the Aesir and a frost giant coward,” Baldr spat. Loki shrugged. The word still stung, but not as much from Baldr – who didn’t know any better – as it did from the mouths of Einherjar. They sat in terse silence until the bright floodlights of the docks poured through the windshield. Volstagg slowed the ambulance to a crawl as row upon row of identical warehouses rose out of the waves towards them.

“Which one is it?” Baldr asked, all but dragging Loki off the stretcher. He stumbled as Volstagg turned and Loki fell against the driver’s seat. Baldr held him up by the collar.

“You can tell me what I want to know and we’ll take the guns and be gone. Or,” he let the word hang. “Or we break down the doors of every warehouse we get to before dawn and when we’re done I bring you back to my father in chains. What do you think he’ll do to you if I tell him we picked you up from the station after an hour of talking to the cops?”

The row of warehouses finished and Volstagg turned into the next one. A mountain of shipping containers cast its shadow over them. Loki hung his head.

“Turn around,” he told Volstagg. “It’s 9F, right on the water.” Baldr whooped and clapped him on the back as the ambulance swiveled around. They pulled into the loading station and Hogun keyed in the code Loki gave him. The heavy metal doors rolled up to reveal Odin’s arsenal. The warehouse was empty but the crates lined up against the wall. Volstagg drove the ambulance right into the center of the warehouse and hopped out. Hogun followed close behind. Baldr pried open the back doors and strode out after his friends, leaving Loki to sink onto floor with his legs trailing over the lip of the ambulance.

Perhaps it was because he was closest to the door, or perhaps because the others had ears only for each other’s boasts and the clipped click of magazines, but Loki heard the car coming first. It rolled up to the door, barely stopping long enough for the code to buzz through and the grate to roll up. Baldr, Hogun and Volstagg froze, elbows deep in guns and ammo as the bright red streak of Coulson’s Lola spun in. It stopped at an angle between them and the exit and Coulson burst out, revolver at the ready. He planted himself behind his car and aimed over the roof squarely at Baldr.

“Put the gun down, kid,” he called. “Put it down, walk towards me with your hands in the air and we all walk out of here!”

Loki pressed himself against the open door of the ambulance, barely daring to breathe. He tried to catch Baldr’s eye, to motion that he should listen. But Baldr’s world had narrowed to the sight pin of Coulson’s gun. Loki saw him raise his weapon as if in slow motion, saw his finger fumble for the trigger. He didn’t need to see Coulson to know that his hand was sure. The shot rang through the split second of silence that separated the bullet from its target. It buried itself in Baldr’s gut. He stumbled back in shock. His finger clenched around the trigger in spasms and Coulson ducked for cover as the Jericho fired randomly. Hogun raised his weapon to join in the fray. Coulson fired again and grazed Volstagg’s arm as he scrambled behind the crates for cover. Hogun was not so lucky. Three shots pierced through him with lightning speed. Loki could not hear him fall over the sound of Baldr’s screams. 

Odin’s son and heir had crawled away from his gun. His hands were clutched over the hole in his belly, trying in vain to stem the blood spurting out. He collapsed onto his side just out of Loki’s reach. “Help me!” he pleaded, voice breaking. Loki didn’t dare. Finally, the shooting ceased. Hogun must have stopped twitching. Volstagg seized the moment and rolled out from behind the crates, not stopping til he crashed headlong into the stretcher behind Loki.

“Guns on the ground,” Coulson roared. “Hands on your heads, lie face down on the ground.” Baldr choked out a sob.

“Start the engine,” Loki breathed. Volstagg blinked at him. “Go,” Loki mouthed. Volstagg took one last look at Baldr and did not hesitate. He turned away and crept up the length of the ambulance towards the driver’s seat. Loki heard the car keys jingle. Baldr moaned. The ambulance’s engine started. Already berating himself for his folly, Loki flung himself forward and reached for Odin’s son. He grabbed Baldr’s coat and pulled with all his might.

“Loki?” Coulson yelled. His gun hovered uncertainly. Loki did not stop to wait for him to make up his mind. With strength born of panic, he heaved himself and Baldr into the back of the moving ambulance. Baldr’s legs dragged on the pavement behind them. Coulson and Lola still barred their way, but Volstagg slammed the gas, ducking behind the wheel to avoid the bullets. The ambulance crashed into Lola’s side, sending the red car flying. Coulson just barely rolled out of the way of its wheels. Speeding through the twist and crash of metal, Volstagg shot through the warehouse doors. Even as they turned onto the street, Loki could see Coulson running behind them. He chased them to the main road, growing smaller and smaller as they made their escape. Soon he was out of sight and Loki had nothing to distract him from Baldr’s broken breathing.

“Where do we go?” Volstagg shouted, swerving through an intersection. Loki pulled Baldr the rest of the way in and closed the door behind him. Baldr yowled in pain. Between the handcuffs still chaffing him and the dizziness settling in, Loki could move him no further. He made to move the shirt covering the wound, but Baldr lashed out with a gut-wrenching scream.

“‘stagg,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “Hospital.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Volastagg threw back. “Can’t go to a hospital. We pinched an ambulance.”

“I need…” The help he needed unravelled into a wordless scream. Loki crawled to the drawers of medical supplies. He grabbed a fistful of gauze and shoved it into the wound in spite of Baldr’s protests. It was soaked through in seconds. Baldr coughed up red.

“Take me home,” he begged. Loki could only shake his head.

“We have to get rid of the car,” he told Volstagg instead, piling more gauze into Baldr’s gut. As he pressed down, a sour smell rose from the wound. There was no point taking him home, no point even leaving him in front of a hospital. Volstagg seemed to sense it, too. He slowed down and turned into a mall parking lot. They stuttered to a stop beside a non-descript blue Camry. Volstagg pocketed the keys and turned to look at Baldr. Gone pale under a sheen of sweat, he was already fading out of consciousness.

“Ma… Mom,” he choked.

“What do we do?” Volstagg asked quietly. “What the hell do we do?” The panic set in as Baldr coughed up a mouthful of blood. “Odin’s gonna have our heads if he… if Baldr – ”

“There’s no if,” Loki said sharply.

Baldr sobbed out a last, suffering breath and was silent. Volstagg let loose a stream of curses. Loki knelt over Baldr’s body. He should have shared Volstagg’s panic. He should perhaps even have felt something like grief. But even the old guilt was absent. Dimly, it occurred to him that there would be no escaping Odin’s wrath. Not for this. Someone would have to pay.

“We need to run,” Volstagg’s ramblings had finally landed on a conclusion. “Get out of town, away from Odin. Fuck, how did he even know we were there? How did he get in?” An idea wormed its way in through the fear and he looked at Loki with suspicion. “He knew your name.”

“Who?”

“The cop, idiot. He said your name when he saw you.” Ever so slowly, Volstagg put the pieces together. “You’re the rat,” he said, a sick grin twisting his face. “Hey, hey!” His hand snapped to the Jericho before Loki could move. “You just sit there, tied up nice and tight until I bring you to the Allfather.”

“You still need to get another car,” Loki said, barely moving his mouth. As if on cue, the ambulance’s fender gave way and hit the pavement with a clang. Volstagg nodded reluctantly. “Lie on your stomach, head to door,” he ordered. Loki complied, moving slowly. When Volstagg was satisfied, he stepped out of the car and sprinted around to the back of the ambulance. The door opened and Loki felt the tip of the Jericho brush his scalp. “Get out,” Volstagg sneered. “Keep your head down!” Loki pulled himself to the edge of the step and carefully slid to the pavement below. He stretched his hands out in front of him to break his fall, and his fingers brushed the leg of Volstagg’s pants. Now.

He grabbed the fabric and pulled, rolling onto his side to deliver a wild kick to Volstagg’s knee. The man fell, dropping the Jericho as he went. Loki did not waste time scrambling for the gun. He threw his arms over Volstagg’s head and let the chain of the handcuffs wrap around his neck. Volstagg’s hands shot to his throat, but Loki dug his knee into the small of Volstagg’s back, arching his spine and cutting off his air. Volstagg bucked and kicked his legs but Loki held on, counting the minutes. Two passed before Volstagg grew too weak to try and throw him off. Seven before he passed out. Loki waited twenty to be sure before he loosened his grip. Kicking the body aside, he lunged for the Jericho and pressed the barrel against Volstagg’s skull. A thunderous instant later and he was standing over a headless corpse. He dropped the gun then and collapsed on the ground.

Something had started bleeding again, though old or new he couldn’t tell. He should take Baldr’s body home, he thought. But he barely had the strength to stand, let alone face Odin. Or, for that matter, Thor. Loki shuddered. Forcing himself to his feet, he limped out of the parking lot. The wind picked up behind him, blowing dust into two pairs of dead and glassy eyes.

***

Wanda came home to find her door unlocked. She nudged it open with her toe and peered inside. At first glance, the apartment was empty. Most days, she would have been concerned, but today a first glance would have to be enough. She smelled of prison and the oversized t-shirt they had given her was drenched in sweat. Whatever waited for her inside could wait a while longer while she showered.

“Wanda?”

She had not made it three steps in before Loki saw her. He had propped himself up against the wall beside the door. His pupils were blown wide and he smiled that easy smile that she never saw when he was sober. She wouldn’t have been concerned but for the handcuffs clinking on his raw wrists, the swollen bruises on his face and the dried brown blood still under his fingernails. 

“God,” she breathed.

“You’re back,” he beamed. She closed the door and crouched down in front of him, shower temporarily forgotten.

“What did you do, huh?” she crooned, taking one of his bloody hands into hers. At her touch he let out a soft gasp. “What are these?” Her fingers brushed the handcuffs. “Want them off?”

“Why?” he wondered. “Saves them the trouble of putting them back on.”

“Who?”

“Coulson, Odin.” He faded back into himself.

“Here, let’s take them off,” Wanda said firmly. “Can you stand?” Loki shook his head.

“I tried yesterday. Day before?” He made a face, almost playfully. “Let’s not try again.”

“Ok, baby, ok.” Wanda swallowed her frustration and went to fetch two hairpins.

“He promised you’d come back.” Loki treasured each word, looking at her with awe. “Look at me?” he asked gently when she returned. Wanda busied herself with the lock. “Please? I   
want to see your eyes. I don’t want to see Baldr’s eyes anymore. Just… look at me?”

The lock opened with a click and Wanda snapped the handcuffs off. Then she looked at him. Loki raised a hesitant hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It was worth it,” he confirmed. “I’d tell him everything again just for this. Even if it still kills Baldr. Just for this.”

Shaken, Wanda laid his hand back on his lap. “I’m going to take a shower. Then we have to sober you up.”

“Stay?” He reached for her arm and pulled her in. His grip was alarmingly strong. “Please stay? I need to make sure Coulson didn’t trick me.”

“I’m right here!” She tried to twist her arm away but he only held on tighter. When she pulled, he dug his nails in. “Fuck! Let go!” Immediately his hand dropped.

“I’m taking a shower. Then I’ll come back.” She stood stiffly and backed away. Loki only stared at her in that baffled, empty way. They were neither of them ready when the door fell in, snapping off its hinges. Muninn stood in the splintered space where it had been. Huginn circled just behind.

“Silver,” he said lowly. “Let’s go. The Allfather is waiting.”


	11. Snitches Get Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and with some payoff for all that thickening plot. I really hope that none of you reading here are sticking with this fic because of Loki's dialogue because I have to warn you - there's not going to be much of that after this chapter. 
> 
> Comments bring me joy and help me write better stories, kindly leave some as you read :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Thor paced up and down the ratty carpet of the Fortuna factory’s back office. Even through the thick glass windows he could hear the thunder of the spindles on the factory floor. Unable to bear the noise a moment longer, he rounded on his father.

“What are we doing here?” he exploded. “We should be at the morgue, getting Baldr back.”

For the first time since he’d ordered Thor into the car that morning, Odin spoke. “He’s dead. There’s no getting him back. We have more important matters.” “He’s your son,” Thor said, aghast. “He was. Every dead man was someone’s son.” Odin regarded his surviving child with something like affection. He laid a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “You can’t think on the dead without going mad. And there’s work to be done yet with the living.”

Thor shrugged his father’s hand away. “This is your fault,” he said angrily, no longer quite sure which death he was blaming him for. “Everything that’s happened since we came here, since Mom…” He closed his eyes, unable to finish. “We were happy, before you came back. Mom and Baldr and me. We were happy without your war, without all this. And they were alive.”

For a moment, Odin said nothing. Thor searched in vain for some trace of anger, shame, even sadness on his father’s face. Odin only regarded his son with a hooded gaze. 

“In Utgard, when they took my eye,” he began. “I was blinded for near nine days. I stumbled around the battlefield, trying to hide whenever I heard the guns. The war didn’t end just because I couldn’t see it. Blindness only made me an easier target. It’s a fool who thinks his happiness can last when it grows from ignorance. And I didn’t raise a soft-hearted fool.”

“You didn’t raise me either,” Thor bit back. Odin flinched, and seemed ready to strike him. But the Allfather collected himself. Scratching the skin around his eyepatch, he looked out the window at the factory drive. A plain white van rolled over the crest of the hill and slowed to a stop beside the small black car with its dented fender that sat parked in front of the main doors.

“You do have one good reason to be angry with me,” Odin said, acting as if he had not heard Thor’s rebuke. “I should have protected you, all of you. Better. Instead I brought a monster home. And I could not see his lies for what they were until the night they killed my son."

Huginn and Munin stepped out of the van, black coats flapping like wings in fierce wind. They slid open the side door and roughly dragged Loki out onto the gravel. He struggled to keep his feet as they jostled him towards the great steel doors.

"Now we will have no more lies," Odin murmured. Thor felt a pang of guilt at the way Loki limped, the way brow had swollen. The way the welts and bruises mottled on his skin. The office door swung open and a short woman of perhaps thirty years showed the small procession in.

“Make sure to take him out the back door when you’re done,” she told Odin. “The afternoon shift will be in by then.”

“Thank you, Verdandi,” the Allfather dismissed her. Verdandi closed the door with a little bow. A shove from Muninn sent Loki to the ground. He landed on his knees before Odin.

“I usually do this sort of thing in the store room,” he commented. He toyed with the ends of the ragged rug. “Urdr would hate it if I stained the rug.”

“You think your little jokes will help you now?” Odin asked. “If you were any other man I’d have Huginn and Muninn put a bullet through your skull and throw you into the sea.”

“If it were anyone else, you’d have me do it,” Loki deadpanned. “So what is this, then? You want me to beg forgiveness before you swing the axe? For Baldr’s death?” He chuckled, the madness creeping in. “Your sons are what you made them. I can’t protect them from their stupidity anymore than I could protect you from yours. Thor loved the wrong woman, Baldr wanted to make you proud. You couldn’t follow a simple order and pull a trigger.” He shook his head, laughing. “It all ends in blood. Usually mine,” he added dryly.

“I don’t care for you begging,” Odin replied. “All I want, is to hear from your own lying lips how you betrayed me before I kill you myself.”

Loki’s eyes widened, almost comically. “Betrayed you?” He swallowed, choosing his next words carefully. “If you’re going to kill me, kill me for failing you and Baldr. I should have taken that bullet for him. I should have brought him home but I didn’t have the strength.” He hung his head and took a shuddering breath. “But I’m your man until my end, and all I’ve done has been for your good.”

Odin raised a mocking brow. “Thor told me of your little… disagreement. You expect me to believe that in the hours you spent at the station, on the same night the police killed my son, you told them nothing? There wasn’t even a scratch on the warehouse doors, and I’m supposed to believe you didn’t give them the code?”

“I swear on my life.”

“Your life is worth nothing.”

“I have never betrayed you.” Loki’s wild gaze flickered from Odin to Thor and back. “If you don’t believe me, end this game and – ”

Huginn cut Loki off with a backhanded slap. He reeled from the blow, spitting a thin line of blood onto the carpet. When Loki sat back up, he found Odin’s gun planted between his eyes.

“You’re right,” the Allfather said coldly. “We’ve played this game too long.”

Loki was frozen, unable to look away from the barrel. He couldn’t breathe. The trigger sighed under Odin’s finger. Thor stepped forward an instant before it clicked. Roughly, he pushed his father’s hand aside. The gun fired into the wall, and the deafening noise of the electric looms burst through the hole. Odin rounded on his son, enraged. Thor did not let him get even the first word out.

“Enough!” he said, nearly yelling over the mechanical roar. “I’m not just going to stand here and watch you kill him!”

“Would you rather do it?” Loki said weakly, his eyes still unfocused from the shock. He forced himself to meet Thor’s gaze. “Maybe this time you’ll have better luck.”

Shame coloured Thor’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Loki. I was drunk and angry and I’m sorry. But you’re as much my brother as Baldr was. Maybe more. And neither of us,” he glared at his father. “Neither of us need more blood on our hands.”

He moved to stand between Odin and Loki. “We’re done here,” he told his father.

“I thought better of you, my son,” Odin said. Abruptly, he gestured to Huginn and Muninn. “Take this boy outside and let me finish my business here.” Huginn made to grab Thor’s arm while Muninn held Loki in place.

“Wait, wait! Wait!” Loki struggled against the grip. “The man who killed your son, Phil Coulson? I know where to find him. I can bring you his head before the day is out.” His voice took on a desperate edge. “You kill me now, for some imagined treason, and you get what? Use me, and tomorrow this whole city will remember why they should fear you.”

“What will you tell this Coulson this time?” Odin set his gun level with Loki’s head as Huginn wrestled Thor out of the way.

“I’ve never told him a word,” Loki swore. It was a truth, he told himself. He’d sold out Einherjar aplenty, men who’d threatened to make Odin less than what he was. But he’d found and finished all those of Coulson’s CIs who’d come close to testifying, those who could have hurt the Allfather. It had to balance out, even if Odin would never see it that way. But now Baldr’s death had tipped the scales, and Loki had to find some way to make it right. “I’ll tell him the same now. My lips are sealed.”

“And yet somehow you’re still talking. Still lying.”

“You want proof? That I’m still yours?” In answer, Odin pulled the gun back a few inches. Loki raised his hands and rose slowly. Slipping free of Muninn’s slackened grip, he made for the desk and opened the drawer. Urdr’s sewing kit lay at the very top. Gingerly, Loki laid it on the desk. He unlatched the box and produced a spool of black thread and a needle that looked sturdy enough for the job at hand. Its eye was wide enough to thread with ease. Nervously licking his lips, he extended the needle and thread to Odin.

“You want me silent, silence me,” he offered. “If that’s what it takes to convince you. But never doubt what I would do for you. Not after all I’ve already done.”

Odin set his gun aside and, to Thor’s horror, reached for the needle.

“Should I have Muninn hold you down?” he asked.

Beyond words, Loki only shook his head. He gripped the edge of the desk so hard that the metal creaked under his white knuckles. He had memories enough – half a lifetime at Odin’s side – to hold him fast in place. They weren’t enough to stifle the whimper he made when the first stitch pierced through. Thor tried to struggle forward, but Loki raised a hand to stop him. Think, he begged silently, and Thor forced himself to stay put and watch. He made it though to the third stitch before he had to look away, clapping his hand over his mouth.

The noise from the factory should have been enough to drown out Loki’s choked sobs and silent screams, but Thor imagined he could still hear them. Tears and snot mingled with blood on Loki’s face as Odin finished his work. With a final bit of cruelty, he snapped the thread off at the end, tearing the corner of Loki’s mouth. As soon as he was free, Loki doubled over with pain and pressed his hands to his tattered lips. He panted frantically though his nose, unable to move for fear of falling. Odin grabbed his jaw and forced him up, admiring his handiwork. Satisfied, he let Loki go and took the first aid kit off the office wall. He handed Loki a bit of gauze and an alcohol swab, nearly prying the spasming fingers apart to put the supplies in the man’s hand.

“Clean yourself up,” Odin said, far too gently for the deed just done. “Thor will drive you into town and you’ll bring me the head of the man who killed my son.” Loki nodded, stopping almost immediately as the motion tugged at the stitches. He dried his eyes, smearing the blood on his jaw in the process. Odin smiled, almost kindly, and laid his hand tenderly on the back of Loki’s neck.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For proving me wrong.”

Loki bowed his head weakly. If not for Odin’s hand holding him up, he would have fallen long ago.

***

Coulson’s phone buzzed angrily, upsetting the precarious balance of the papers stacked on his desk. He fished through the fallen sheets for the device. Loki’s number gleamed green on the screen. Coulson read the text once, rubbed his eyes, and read it again in disbelief.

_I’ll testify_ , it read. _To everything. Just help me._

Coulson jumped up from his seat and punched the air in barely contained excitement. Still, he knew better than to take good fortune at face value. He texted back.

_Thought we were done when you ran off last time? What changed?_

_I need help_ , the phone buzzed a moment later.

_Come to the station and turn yourself in_ , Coulson offered. _Then we’ll talk._

_Can’t. Followed._

_They won’t follow you into the station_.

_No, they’ll shoot me at the door. Pick somewhere else. Please. Hurry._

The texts came rapid fire, one after the other. Coulson drummed his fingers on his desk. He looked across the room to where the dispatcher fiddled with her radio dial.

“Hey Hill?” he called. Maria plucked one headphone out.

“Yeah?”

“We have any patrols near Fifth and Quaker?”

“Yep,” she answered, checking her log. “May and Johnson should be around there.”

“Good,” Coulson grabbed his phone and the keys to a squad car. After a moment’s though he also grabbed his gun, tucking it into his belt. “I’m heading home for a bit. If I’m not back here in an hour, send them to my place.”

“What are you gonna do?” Maria asked warily.

“Bring back a nail for Borson’s coffin,” he quipped, reaching for the door. It opened before he reached the handle and Barton blocked the way. Arms crossed, he propped the door open with his foot.

“That’s a nice way of putting a real shit plan,” he said. Grunting, Coulson shoved past him and set off across the parking lot. Barton jogged behind him, letting the door swing. “This about Loki?” he called. “Because I don’t care what he told you, going off like this alone you’re gonna get killed. That guy is insane.” Coulson stopped short and glared at his former partner.

“This is about my case, which you’re no longer on. So get back to writing parking tickets or whatever Fury has you doing these days.”

Barton drew back, stung. “Listen, I’m sorry, but Loki’s not your CI anymore. Not after he ran and not after this Foster murder.”

“And whose fault is that?” Coulson accused.

“That’s a good thing,” Barton stressed. “He was playing us and – ” Coulson’s phone buzzed urgently, interrupting him. “If that’s him now, you can bet he’s planning something.”

“He said he’d testify,” Coulson admitted reluctantly. “I think he got caught, I think he’s scared, and this is the best shot at Odin I’ve had in years. You can’t ask me to let this go.”

“I’m not,” Barton sighed. “I’m just asking you to let me help.”

Coulson gave the offer a moment’s thought. “Are you gonna fly off the handle when you see him?”

“I won’t be happy,” Barton answered honestly. “But I’m just there to watch your back. You can handle talking to the fucker.”

“Done,” Coulson decided. He tossed Barton his phone. “17 Tahiti Road. Text him.”

“Your place?” Barton hesitated. Coulson was already in the driver’s seat.

“Safest place I know,” he confirmed, starting the car. Barton keyed in the address and clicked send as they sped out of the parking lot. The drive took barely ten minutes on the highway. Ten minutes of tense silence and of Clint inspecting his gun. Coulson’s little clapboard house with its blue porch crept up on them from the end of the street. Loki was waiting on the front steps, hunched over. He jumped when they turned into the driveway, raising his head for an instant. Coulson slammed his foot on the brakes.

“Jesus fuck!” he exclaimed at the sight of Loki’s mutilated face. “Holy…” Thirteen stitches of thick black thread zigzagged unevenly across his lips. In places they had torn though the flesh, leaving sagging holes through to his teeth and gums. Blood had clotted darkly around the rim and in the corners of his mouth, twisting the wound into the shape of a melting smile. Coulson was out of the car before the wheels stopped rolling. He sprinted up the drive, pulling out his keys as he went. Loki followed him through the front door with careful steps.

“Sit down there.” Coulson pointed to the foldout couch that filled his living room. Loki sank into the pillows, wincing. Coulson rummaged through his kitchen cabinets for something like a first aid kit. Barton closed the door behind them.

“Fuck,” Coulson breathed. He pulled a Tupperware full of band-aids, toothpicks and Pepto Bismol onto the counter. Not a pair of scissors in sight. He looked apologetically at Loki.

“I’ll get it,” Clint said in a strained voice. He pulled out a Swiss army knife and extracted a pair of clippers. Loki shrank back into the couch, pulling away as Barton sat down beside him. Clint had to lean forward and push his holster aside just to get a firm grip.

“Want me to leave you like this, huh?” Loki shook his head miserably. “Then sit still. Coulson? Do you have any antiseptic?” “There might be gin…” Coulson stopped at Barton’s incredulous look.

“What? You have a fully stocked first aid kit at home?”

“I’ve got three kids, Phil. Of course I have a first aid kit at home,” Clint said. “Just grab a dishcloth and some water, ok? Or a paper towel,” he added, noticing the lack of clean dishcloths. He turned back to Loki. “This is gonna suck. Just try to hold still.”

Clint pulled off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. With confidence he didn’t quite feel, he started to cut. On the first few stitches he caught Loki’s lip, and little trickles of red ran through the dried blood. Clint did his best to pull out the threads as he went, tossing the pieces onto a paper towel. All the while Loki breathed loudly, nostrils flaring. He closed his eyes each time he heard the blades snip. When it was done, Clint handed him a damp towel. Loki pressed it to his lips and moaned.

“What happened?” Coulson asked, pulling up a chair. Loki lifted a finger, gesturing to wait. Experimentally, he opened his mouth, managing about a half-inch before the pain snapped it shut.

“Odin’s mercy,” he mumbled. The words morphed into a pained gasp.

“Okay, okay,” Coulson shushed him. “You don’t have to talk, it’s fine. Just nod… ah, thumbs up, thumbs down?” Loki flashed a grateful thumb up.

“This is ‘cause I shot his son, right?” Thumbs up.

“He thinks you snitched?” Again, Loki confirmed Coulson’s suspicions.

“Okay,” Coulson said thoughtfully. “Okay. We’ll have to get you out of town. Fury knows a guy with the Miami PD so we can stash you there for the night,” he trailed off, noticing Loki’s thumbs down.

“What, you don’t want to leave town?”

“Can’t,” Loki managed. “Not yet.”

“What? What… oh, is it the girl? Wanda or… does he think she told us something, too?” Thumbs down.

“Someone else? Someone else we should help?” Thumbs up.

“Who?”

And Loki pointed. First at Coulson, then at Barton. Phil let out a long, deep breath. Barton jumped off the couch to peer out the window. He only saw their car in the driveway.

“He wants us dead?” Thumbs up.

“That’s not a surprise. Okay. Clint?”

“Yup?” Barton was still keeping an eye on the street.

“Take the car, get Laura and the kids and go. Somewhere north, don’t tell me where. I’ll go south with Loki to Miami. Loki, these guys following you, they know you’re here?" 

“Too late,” Loki whispered, ignoring the question.

“Too late?” Coulson's frustration bled into his tone. “What do you mean too late? Clint, you see anybody?”

“Nope, nothing.” Barton wiped his sleeve over where his breath had fogged the glass. “Loki, what kind of car am I looking for? Or colour? I’ll just… thumbs up when it’s the right one, okay? Red, blue, black, white, grey – ”

Bang.

The gunshot tore through the house. Clint moved on instinct, jumping behind the fridge to put something between himself and the sound. His hand shot to his holster and his fingers closed on empty air. Peeking out, he saw his gun in Loki’s hand, still smoking through the gaping hole in the back of Coulson’s head.

Seeing a target, Loki leapt to his feet and fired again, shoving Coulson aside in his haste. The body crumpled to the floor. Clint ducked back behind the fridge. One bullet hit the window frame behind him while another ricocheted off the fridge door and hit the tiled stovetop wall. Clint’s phone lay useless in his coat pocket on the couch. Desperately, he searched for a weapon. He pulled open the fridge door and ducked inside, pressing his back into the cold shelves. With a six pack and jar of pickles to choose from, Clint grabbed the beers and dove behind the kitchen counter. Loki’s next shot grazed his leg as he fell. Clint yelled, more from the shock than from the pain, and lobbed a can over the counter. It missed Loki by a foot. Clint leaned his head back against the chrome and listened, but Loki wasn’t coming any closer. Still in pain and still too weak, he wouldn’t stand a chance if Clint went for the gun. Readying another can of beer, Clint counted off the shots. Fifteen in the magazine, plus one in the chamber. One hit his leg, one at the window, one at the fridge and stove. One through Coulson. Or had it been one at the fridge and another at the stove? Adrenaline clouded his mind and Clint didn’t know if he had ten or eleven shots left to dodge. All he knew was that it was too many.

He tossed the next can low, aiming for Loki’s legs. Though it didn’t hit, Loki stumbled trying to dodge. That was the only change Clint needed. He leapt onto the counter and slid across, ramming into Loki feet first. The gun waved wildly, sending two shots into the ceiling, but Loki didn’t let go. Clint wrapped his arms under Loki’s bicep and pulled, pinning himself between Loki’s shoulder and the gun. Tilting his head back, Barton slammed his forehead into Loki’s mouth. Loki screamed, a mad and hollow sound, and fell back. He tripped over Coulson’s body and collapsed on the ground. Clint still kept his grip on the arm holding the gun. He jerked it up and Loki’s shoulder popped. He sobbed and his fingers around the gun loosened just enough for Clint to pry it free. As soon as he had it, Clint kicked Loki aside and backed up, squaring his shoulders and taking aim.

“You fucking piece of shit,” he spat. Loki tried to turn to face him but Clint didn’t give him a chance. He fired a warning shot at the floor, inches away from Loki’s head. “You don’t fucking move!” he yelled, voice breaking. Keeping one eye on Loki, he stepped towards the couch. He pulled the phone out of his coat pocket, shifting the gun into his left hand to type in the password. His eyes darted between the screen and Loki’s back. His fingers slipped.

“Incorrect password,” the robotic voice resounded. “Would you like to try again?”

Clint started typing again, more carefully. He stared at the numbers for a second too long. He heard a rustle and looked up to see Loki reaching over Coulson’s body. With a shout, Clint tossed the phone aside and clapped his right hand to the gun to fire. But Loki had already found Phil’s gun. He rolled onto his back, pulling Coulson along with him. Clint’s shots hit the body in the shoulder and the chest. Loki raised his hand from under the corpse and fired, pumping the trigger until it clicked to empty. He heaved Coulson’s body off of himself, shuddering as the head cracked against the floor. He rose to his feet, leaning heavily on the couch. Barton was sprawled spread-eagled on his back, four red stains blooming on his chest. He was still breathing, wet, sucking breaths that slowly filled with blood. Loki kicked his gun away.

Stepping over the dying man, Loki went into Coulson’s kitchen and searched through the drawers for a knife. Odin had asked for a head. He found a carving knife and checked the blade. It wasn’t as sharp as he would have liked, but better than chipping his own tools on the bone. Before he could set himself to the task, a movement on the street outside caught his eye. A police car rolled lazily into view, slowing to a stop in front of Coulson’s house. Two women stepped out and headed up the drive. The older one already had a hand on her pistol, while the younger spoke into her radio. Loki glanced around the room, fixing on the screen door and the yard in the back. A wire gate was all that separated it from the next block. Not thinking twice, he tossed the knife aside and ran, through the door, across the yard and over the fence. He ran down the street and didn’t stop until he reached the gas station where Thor was waiting. Loki fell into the front seat.

“Go,” he ordered. “Cops.”

Thor started the car and turned onto the highway. His eyes ran over Loki’s fresh wounds and the blood soaking his shirt.

“Did you do it?” he asked, willing the obvious truth away. Loki did not bother answering.

“We don’t have to go back,” Thor said. “We could just keep driving. Away from him.”

“Stop,” Loki murmured, exhausted, and Thor stopped. Trying to pull Loki away from Odin, or Odin away from Loki, was a useless battle first lost on the frozen walls of Utgard and the snowy wasteland of Vigrid. And it was lost again and again every day since.


	12. The Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! Had a bit less work today than anticipated, so here is another chapter to tide you over until the finale this weekend. Comments feed my soul, as always, because they let me know you're having a good time :)

The bus squeaked to a stop amid the manicured lawns and wrought iron gates of Safe Harbour’s elite. Wanda stepped off with trepidation, her heels clacking cheaply on the pavement in the light rain. The Borson house loomed large above her, a stark white structure against the heavy clouds overhead. She shivered, and not because of the wind. At the gate, she jammed a chipped fingernail against the buzzer. After a soft hiss and crackle, a woman’s voice came through.

“Yes?”

“Hi,” Wanda cleared her throat. “I… have something to tell the Allfather. It’s about his son. Baldr?”

“I’m sorry. We’re not seeing anyone today,” the woman answered coldly. The intercom went dead. Huffing, Wanda hit the buzzer again.

“I told you to leave,” the woman snapped.

“And I told you I got something important to say.”

“The Allfather doesn’t want to hear about his son. We have a business to run.”

Taking a deep breath, Wanda turned frank. “I know who sold him out.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, “Who?”

“Let me in and we’ll talk.”

The intercom switched off again, but this time the gate slid open with an electric hum. Wanda hurried up the path towards the front door. A dark-haired woman emerged and waited for her on the threshold. She gave Wanda a cursory scan and wrinkled her nose.

“You’re not one of ours,” she observed. Wanda shook her head, fiddling nervously with her jacket’s zipper. “Hydra?” the woman probed dangerously. Wanda looked away.

“I want out,” she said shortly. “I want three grand to get clear of Schmidt and out of this town, and I’ll tell you and Mr. Borson who’s your rat.”

“Do you have a name?” the woman asked.

“Wanda. Maximoff,” she added. The woman nodded and extended a hand. “Sif,” she offered. “Come inside.”

Wanda followed Sif down the hall, past an empty home office and into the living room. Odin sat with his back to the door, eyes locked on the stormy sea. He did not seem to hear them come in. Sif motioned for Wanda to wait. She crouched down beside the armchair and laid a gentle hand on Odin’s arm.

“Father?” she said. Odin blinked down at her.

“What is it?” he asked drowsily. “Is it the men from the customs office? Are they here already?” He made to stand, but Sif shook her head. “No, no. They came this morning,” she explained. “I handled the fees, it’s all settled.”

“Ah. Good.” Odin sank back into the cushions.

“There’s a woman here to see you,” Sif continued. “She has some information I think you ought to know.” At a gesture from Sif, Wanda stepped forward. She bowed her head meekly under the Allfather’s gaze.

“Well? Speak up, girl.”

“Loki talked to the cops,” she blurted out. After those first words, the rest rushed out. “He told them everything – where the weapons were, how to get in.”

“He told you all this?” Odin sounded skeptical.

Wanda nodded. “And that’s not all. After your guys took him away, I found his phone in my apartment. He’s been talking to Coulson for months.” 

“Months of keeping his secret for him and now you come forward?” 

Realizing her mistake, Wanda was quick to set the record straight. “I didn’t know anything until a couple days ago. And soon as I knew I came straight here to tell you.”

“How noble of you,” Odin said dryly. Wanda pursed her lips. “This isn’t free,” she said sharply. She pointed at Sif. “I already told her I want three grand and a ticket out of here.” For a terrifying moment, Odin said nothing. Then, haltingly, he nodded.

“You’re quite right,” he said, rising. “Loyalty should be rewarded. Sif? Give her $500 from the safe and write her a cheque for the rest. And buy her a Greyhound ticket to…?” he looked at Wanda expectantly.

“California,” she said after only a moment’s hesitation, unable to believe her good luck.

“To Los Angeles, then,” Odin decided.

“The money,” Wanda began. “I owe it to some Hydra guys. Can you… I don’t want them coming after me.”

Odin smiled. “You can consider yourself under my protection,” he assured her. Wanda could have wept with joy.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Oh God, thank you.” Odin dismissed her with a wave. Even as Sif ushered her out of the room, Wanda stopped and turned back to the Allfather.

“He’s done a lot of stupid shit – sorry – stuff,” she caught herself. “And I know what you’ve got to do. But make it fast, ok? Don’t make him suffer?”

Odin had already turned away, back to the sea, and Wanda got no comfort or reply as Sif led her away. The weathered rocks of the shoreline shattered the roiling waves. The salt spray rained against the window, softening the stark horizon and clouding his view. 

He threw the window open and embraced the full fury of the storm.

***

Loki had been sitting in the hospital waiting room for well over three hours. The patients and nurses came and went, chattering about the preparations for the coming night’s storm. Every so often someone stopped, hovered, and asked if he was alright. If there was anything he needed. Loki shook his head each time, the fresh sores of his lips scratching against the scarf he’d pulled nearly up to his nose. And each time they let him be, going on their way with a friendly smile or a considerate nod. Perhaps they thought he had a loved one here, asleep in the limbo of the operating room. The waiting room was, after all, the place to put the minutes and hours and days that made up the difference between knowing and not knowing, between fear and rejoicing. Or mourning.

There had been a chance. There was no other way to put it. Coulson had given him a choice and Loki had chosen a bullet. Again. Except it had never felt like a choice before.  
He let himself look back on the years, searching for a place where their paths might have split had he made a different call. Shoot his brothers or get shot? Not much of a choice. His mother? Even less so. Follow Odin into the woods or stay and wait for another hand that would pull the trigger? Help the man who’d spared his life, or run off to look for the Nine Realms army in the snow with no knowing what they’d do to him if he found them. Protect Odin and the ones he loved as best he was able, or face the Red Room and pay for what he’d done. Fate had tied his life in a loop, always leading back to Odin. And the knot tightened daily.

Somehow, even with so much of his life already written, he’d been given a choice. And now the consequences haunted him, sitting across the waiting room and dozing against the wall. Barton’s wife, Laura. She’d been there for days, waiting. Sometimes she came with her children, sometimes just with the baby. She waited until the nurse came and led her to his room, and Loki could see them through the glass. Barton barely breathing, Laura holding his hand. She woke, startled, when a nurse tapped her arm, and went towards the room. The news was good today, Loki judged, by the way the nurse smiled and some of the tension left Laura’s shoulders. 

Barton was awake when she came in, grinning lazily in an opiate haze. He was recovering, slowly. Loki envied him for it. He rose and left the couple, heading to the pharmacy downstairs. Five minutes later, with a pack of nicotine patches in his pocket, he set off up the street in search of a quiet place to spend the night. With his truck gone and Wanda still bitter about Huginn and Muninn breaking down her door, his remaining options were few and far between. The rain was falling in earnest now, made worse by the wind. Squinting against the wet and the cold, Loki didn’t see the sleek grey car until it was almost upon him. Huginn rolled down the window.

“Where are you headed?” he called. Loki shrugged. Nowhere.

“Want a ride?” Huginn continued. Loki glanced at the darkening sky. Lightning licked at the horizon. He nodded. Huginn beckoned and gestured for Loki to raise his arms. Black-gloved hands patted him down and Huginn plucked the gun out of Loki’s belt. He placed it in his lap as Loki crossed his arms against the cold. The door slid open, revealing crisp leather seats, Muninn at the wheel and Odin sitting in the back. Shivering, Loki sat down beside the Allfather. At the push of a button the door clicked shut and the car sped away up the rain-slicked street.

“Getting that looked at?” Odin inquired, gesturing to Loki’s lips. The scarf had fallen to his neck in the wind and the wounds stood out violently against his skin. “It’s starting to look infected.”

Loki only shrugged again. He’d given up trying to speak the day before. Between the bruising and the swelling where the holes had filled with pus, he could barely open his mouth at all.

“Still not talking, are you?” Odin sighed. Loki raised a brow. Hadn’t that been the point? “I suppose that makes this easier. No lies, no bargains.” Odin paused to look out the window. “Though I’ll admit, I wanted to ask you why.”

Loki followed his gaze and saw the city shrink behind them, falling behind a curtain of rain. Muninn turned and the pavement gave way to gravel as the road began to slope uphill. Even through the downpour, he could see the lights of the Fortuna factory glowing like pale halos at the top of the bluffs.

“Not why you lied, telling me you’d never betray me,” Odin continued. “And certainly not why you betrayed me in the first place. I don’t care if they offered you money, if you bartered for a lighter sentence. If you were simply angry with me. No, I wish I could ask you why now, after all the years we’ve shared, after all the deeds we’ve done. Why did you turn away from me now, when you’d already given me so much before?”

Loki looked at Odin and felt strangely calm. Even if he’d been able to speak, he doubted he would have had an answer.

“Were you planning it, I wonder? Scheming in wait for an opportune moment?” He regarded Loki with a sneer. “You never were one for grand plans. More likely than not the chance came and you took it, not quite knowing where it would lead. Was it because of your Jotun father?” Odin guessed. Loki kept his face blank. “After you killed him, did you have no one else to blame for your fate? So you settled for blaming me?” An idea occurred to him then, setting his single eye alight. “Or perhaps you truly don’t believe you’ve betrayed me. After all, you never gave me up. Baldr’s death was an unfortunate accident. How could you have known he’d be there that night, that he’d be fool enough to fire on the cops? You told me you thought me changed. Did you want us forced back to the way it was before? No empire, no Einherjar, just the two of us forever running from the past?”

A gust of wind buffeted the side of the car, nearly strong enough to force it off the road. The steering wheel squeaked with how hard Muninn had to turn it to fight the hurricane’s assault.

“Now the past is catching up,” Odin raised his voice over the weather’s roar. Loki checked the door, but it was locked and nothing lay beyond but the steep cliff and the hungry sea. “We’ve run right back to the place this began.” In the front seat, Huginn turned, gun in hand, aiming straight for Loki. “And this time,” Odin proclaimed. “I won’t hesitate.” The storm swallowed his words. Loki did not wait for the shot. He lunged forward, past the gun, and grabbed at the wheel. The wind was on his side and Muninn could not fight them both. The front wheels caught in a slurry of mud and gravel and even as Muninn struggled for control, the car pitched on its side and flew off the road. It crashed headlong into a rocky outcrop, folding with an accordion’s scream. The steering wheel collapsed into Muninn’s chest, crushing him, while the force of the impact flung Loki and Huginn through the windshield. They slid over the fender, slippery with rain, and flew over the edge of the cliff face. Huginn fell, screaming, into the maelstrom below. A narrow rocky shelf, no more than four feet below the edge, broke Loki’s fall. 

He landed hard, his left leg breaking against the stone with a crack. Blinding pain erupted at his knee, and when he looked down Loki could see the limb twisted out of shape. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe from where his back had hit the rock, but the storm whistling around him forced him to try. He dragged himself back until he sat against the cliff face, careful not to move his leg. Clenching his teeth, he rolled onto his belly. The broken bones scraped against each other and Loki screamed in agony through his shredded lips. He lay still until the nausea faded, then slowly began crawling up the slope towards the wreckage.

Rough hands slick with blood grabbed his arms and Odin pulled him the rest of the way up. The Allfather’s forehead was split open and blood coated his face in a thin sheen. Loki tried to pull away, but Odin’s grip was firm and without his legs he couldn’t stop the old man from dragging him back to the road. Once there, Odin collapsed onto the gravel beside Loki. “Not yet,” he panted, breathing heavily in the rain. “Nothing gets to kill you before I’m done with you.” Loki looked at him helplessly. He didn’t even have the strength left to crawl. In the distance, the lights of the factory played havoc with his eyes, sending them shapes and shadows that could not be.

Odin watched passively as Loki flickered out of consciousness. For a moment, he felt ready to join him. Suddenly, two pinpricks of light appeared through the gale coming up the road from the city. Odin raised his hand and waved feebly. A small black car with a dented fender pulled up beside them. A short woman of perhaps twenty years stepped out, covering her hair from the rain with a glossy magazine.

“Allfather?” she asked, and did not seem surprised.

“Skuld,” he sighed, sagging with relief. “Are you headed up the hill?”

She nodded. “Almost time for the last shift.” She glanced at Loki and his sorry state. “Do you need to use the back room?”

“We won’t be long,” Odin promised. Skuld helped him to his feet. “I can tell,” she said dryly, nudging Loki’s unconscious form. She hoisted him into a fireman’s carry and folded him into the back seat. Odin got in the front beside her.

“Want me to patch that up?” she offered, gesturing at his forehead. Odin shook his head, dabbing at the wound with his sleeve. Between the pain and the blood blinding him he could see as clearly as he had on the battlefield before Utgard. And to do what needed to be done tonight, he needed the eyes of that younger Odin. The one still reeling from the shrapnel’s blow, still stumbling in the dark. The one who’d never been shown mercy, and so had never shown it in return.


	13. Lye to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is. To quote a kindred spirit, if you were expecting a happy ending then you haven't been paying attention.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who stuck through to the bitter end. Comments absolutely make my day, so if you liked the story please tell me you did (and then I can write more new and creative misfortunes for Loki that we can all enjoy).

Thor finished setting the table just as Sif stepped through the door. She kicked off her shoes and stopped midway through taking off her jacket, stumped by the sight.

“This is… new,” she said cautiously, eyeing the plates of Chinese take-out and the glass of wine he’d put beside her usual seat. Thor gestured for her to sit down. “I owe you an apology,” he said, joining her at the table. “A few apologies, probably.”

“Probably,” she agreed, taking a long drink of wine. She offered him the bottle, but Thor shook his head. He held up a can of Coke. “Trying something new,” he said, sheepishly. Sif managed a little smile.

“Good. I’m glad.” In awkward silence, they loaded their plates with noodles. Thor struggled with the chopsticks for all of two seconds before going to the kitchen for a fork. “So about those apologies?” Sif said when he came back.

“Right.” Thor extended a hand. “I’m sorry. You’ve put up with me through the worst of it, and I let you down. I don’t know how to make that up to you. But I’m gonna try.” Sif took the offered hand. She ran her thumb over his wedding ring.

“I was thinking,” Thor continued. “We could start with a weekend out of town. Get away from the family for a bit, and the storms. What?” his face fell at her frown.

“I can’t just leave town for a bit,” she scoffed. “Not with the way your father’s been these past few weeks. Who do you think has been running the business?”

“I’m sure my father can handle himself for a couple days.”

“Your father still thinks he’s fighting a war and that few bullets will solve all his problems, like the rest of the old Einherjar.” Talk of Odin had emptied her wineglass and she was quick to refill it. “You should have seen him today. No thinking, no planning, just takes the car and Huginn and Muninn and says he’s going to the factory. In this storm, and with heat still on from the cops, I mean it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long.”

“He went to the factory?” Thor’s blood ran cold. Sif nodded. “Shouldn’t he have sent Loki?”

She laughed humourlessly. “That might be a bit tricky, in this situation,” she commented, oblivious to the fear creeping over Thor’s face. “Still he should’ve sent someone. He’s too old to be dealing with this kind of thing himself.”

Thor stood, pulling his hand away. “Where are you going?” she called as he grabbed his keys from the shelf and his raincoat from the closet. He turned to face her as he shoved on his boots.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked. Sif got up from the table and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“He talked to the cops, Thor,” she replied. “He’s had this coming for a while.” Thor didn’t answer. He just tugged furiously at his shoelace. It snapped in two. “Listen,” Sif said firmly. “You can’t stop this. Come sit down, we’ll talk this over. Just don’t go riding off into the storm to do something stupid.”

“We’ve talked,” Thor said curtly. “I’ve got nothing else to say.”

Sif threw up her hands as he stepped out into the storm, leaving the door open behind him. She slammed it shut and took a deep breath before grabbing her wine and heading upstairs. She left the food to grow cold on the table.

Thor sprinted to his car through the rain and took off, speeding through the nighttime streets. He was the only car on the road and he raced through red lights and up one-way streets taking every short-cut he knew. He was already too late, a voice in the back of his head taunted. The thunderclaps helped drown it out. He reached the gravel road and pressed down on the gas with grim determination, headlights fixed on the factory’s dim glow. He was coming. A few more minutes. He just hoped Loki could hold out.

*** 

Odin hadn’t bound his hands. At this point there really was no need. His left leg was splayed out in front of him, uselessly askew, while his right was too bruised to bend and already swelling. An ache in his side made it hard to breathe and something twisted, painfully wrong, in his spine. Loki slumped forward in the chair in the Fortuna’s back office. Behind him, Odin rummaged through the desk drawers.

“I know you keep it somewhere here,” he muttered. He pried open a final cabinet. “There we are,” he exclaimed, pulling out the jar of lye. He set it on the table.

“This was always one of your better tricks,” he told Loki, unscrewing the lid. “Pain first, then relief when they start talking. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like you’ve left me the vinegar.” He strode around the table to lean over Loki. “Shame that it’ll be faster this way.” Loki tried to grab at him, but Odin easily stepped out of reach. “Is that all?” he chuckled. “Your kind never know when to stop. But I’m disappointed. I always thought you had some spirit in you, that you would fight til the end and greet death like a man. Instead, look at you,” Odin grimaced. “I’d almost say I’m doing you a favour.” Loki’s eyes flashed, dark and dangerous. Odin smiled. “That’s it.” He reached for the lye and Loki flinched away. Odin swirled the liquid inside experimentally.

“I’ve always wondered how strong you make it.” He brought the jar over Loki’s left thigh. The lye sloshed against the rim, “Let’s start slow.” He tilted the jar and let a few drops fall. Loki tried to move his leg out of the way, but the broken bones crunched against each other and slowed him down. The drops hit like white hot nails being hammered into his flesh. He gripped the sides of the chair. It would only be worse if he pressed his hands to the wound. The lye burned through his pants in an instant and burrowed through his skin. He cried out through his closed lips as the heat grew too much to bear. Then – at last – relief. Not thanks to Odin. The lye had just burned deep enough that he could no longer feel the pain.

“I’ll have to be more careful,” Odin observed. “If I pour that much every time we’ll run out before we can even start talking about your betrayal.” Loki breathed weakly and forced himself to look up at Odin. He tried to pry his lips apart, but the only sound he could make was a garbled moan. Odin paused.

“Something to say?” He set the lye down on the floor and headed back around to the desk. He pulled out a pencil and a spiral notebook. “No lies,” he cautioned, handing them to Loki. “And no begging. This ends with your death whatever you say. But if I like your answer, I’ll make it quick. For old time’s sake.” He looked at Loki expectantly. Loki nodded, balancing the notebook on the arm of the chair. “Why did you betray me now?” Odin asked. “You had your chance to run, several chances, but each time you chose to stay by my side. So what changed?” Loki set pencil to paper and began to write.

_I didn’t betray you._

Immediately, he crossed it out.

_You used to be a good man. When they brought me to Vigrid, you didn’t have to do anything. But you helped me. You took care of me. And when my brothers tried to escape, you gave me a chance to prove that I had Aesir blood in me. You gave me that chance over and over again and by the end, when the Nine Realms were taking the camp and we’d shot all the other prisoners…_

He paused, unsure how to continue.

_The other Einherjar would have still killed me. But you saw that I’d proven myself and you gave me my life. Of course I followed you, away from the camp, to find your family. I owed you everything and you still treated me like an equal. Like an Aesir. But the Red Room kept hunting you, and you started hating frost giants more and more. I don’t think you hated them…_

He crossed it out.

_I don’t think you hated us so much during the war. Not any more than anyone else did. Just didn’t think we were worth the trouble. But after they killed Frigga you changed. And I put up with it because I knew you were a good man. I knew that you said those things to me and treated me that way because you were angry. Because you were grieving. And I thought, if I just wait, if I just help him like I’ve always tried to help him, he’ll come back. He hasn’t changed. But I was always a good liar, and best when I was lying to myself. I should have known I was wrong when you reached out to your old comrades. I was so afraid to come here where there were so many Einherjar, but you told me you’d take care of me, like you always had. And I couldn’t leave Thor or Baldr. So I trusted you and I came._

He reached the end of the page and tore it off. Odin took it and began to read. Loki picked up his pencil again.

_I don’t know when things changed. It must have been very slowly. But I wasn’t Aesir anymore here. I couldn’t be by your side if you wanted the Einherjar’s respect. And you told me it just a game. A long game until you made it to the top and things could be like they were before. And you asked me to help you. It wasn’t that different from what I’d done for you in Vigrid. Just more bodies. Except they weren’t proving anything this time. The more the other Einherjar respected you the worse you treated me. And when iduna was the only thing that helped me bear it, it was just another reason for you to say you couldn’t trust me anymore. I still thought you were a good man, and I was ashamed that I’d lost your trust. So I thought there had to be a way to get it back. I thought maybe if I get rid of the frost giant part of me, you’d see the Aesir part again. So I started looking for him. It took me months to find him and when I did I told him who I was and why he had to die. And when I told him how I’d survived the war, my father told me it would have been better if I’d died in Vigrid than done what I’d done for you. When I told you that he was dead, you weren’t happy. I hadn’t proven anything. That’s when I realized I couldn’t count on you to protect me from your men. So I used Coulson. Just to get rid of the ones I knew would kill me if they got half a chance._

Odin’s laughter interrupted him. Frowning, Loki put down the pencil and looked up at the Allfather. Shaking his head, Odin set the paper on the desk. “I’m going to keep that,” he announced, pointing at the paper. “To remind myself never to trust my memories in my old age. Is that really how you think it went?”

Loki blinked, cold seeping into his stomach. Odin picked up the jar of lye. “It was a game, you and your brothers. A game the guards had,” he explained. “When we caught you boys trying to escape, we took each of you aside and asked if you’d shoot your brothers to save yourself. We placed bets and I bet on you. And I was right. Both your brothers said they’d rather die. You,” he brought the jar close enough that Loki could smell the lye. “You impressed me, not because you were – how did you put it? – proving yourself more Aesir? You were the furthest thing from Aesir you could be. You impressed me because you would do anything I asked, without question. We had some fun with that, remember?” Loki felt the bile rising in his throat. Odin tipped the jar of lye and the stream ran down Loki’s right shoulder, over his chest and belly. He threw his head back, twitching. His lips started to bleed as his face contorted in a scream.

“That was for stupidity,” Odin said, pulling the jar away. “What else did you write there?” He plucked up the sheet and scanned it. “That I gave you your life because you’d proven yourself?” he sighed. “Loki, there was an army a few hours march away and the captain wanted us to dig a thousand graves in ice, and that’s after we wasted two days making the bodies to fill those graves. All the men who listened to that order are dead now, frozen on top of the Jotnar they killed. I ran because I wasn’t about to follow them.”

Breathing in sharp gasps, Loki wrote frantically. His letters shook with pain.

_Why didn’t you shoot me? You just dropped the gun and ran. Why?_

“I was out of bullets,” Odin shrugged. “It would have taken half an hour to get more and come all the way back to shoot you, and the captain would have seen me. The forest was closer, so I ran. I didn’t expect you to follow me,” he laughed. “I’ll still never understand why you did that. Not to say I’m not grateful. I wouldn’t have made it through that winter alone, or found Frigga and my sons. And you were a good fighter. Useful to have around. It’s just strange that these accidents, really, that those moments that meant nothing at all are the ones that mean so much to you.”

He poured the lye again, this time down Loki’s left shoulder. It trickled over his heart, searing the flesh apart. Loki couldn’t stop himself. He pressed his hands to the wound, trying to ease the pain. It only succeeded in spreading the lye to his palms. He fell forward out of the chair and writhed on the ground, trying to scrape the liquid away. Odin crouched down beside him.

“It’s a shame,” he said gently. “I could have used a man like you a while longer.” He raised the jar again, inches above Loki’s eyes. But he didn’t count on the wave of pain that shot through Loki as the lye ate through to his heart, or on the spastic flailing of his burning hands. Loki’s arm collided with the jar and sent it flying back. It was still half-full, and the blow sent the remaining lye showering over Odin’s throat and face. He shrieked, clawing at his skin in agony. It sloughed off in shrunken tatters as the chemical consumed him. He fell back, and the lye trickled down his throat, up his nose and into his brain. He was dead in minutes.

Loki lay at the corpse’s feet, gasping. The pain of the last burn had faded, but something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t catch his breath and his heartbeat seemed sluggish and slow. He wondered how much longer it would take. He heard the office door open and tilted his head to see who had come in. Thor stood stock still, unable to look away from the grisly scene. When he saw Loki move he seemed to snap awake. He rushed to kneel at Loki’s side. 

“I...” The words died in his throat as he took stock of Loki’s injuries. He laid a comforting hand on Loki’s forehead, one of the few parts of him where the lye hadn’t reached. “I should have… I’m sorry. It’s going to be alright,” he promised finally. Loki shook his head, eyes clouding over. He wished Thor carried a gun. Then this could have been over by now. The way it was supposed to have finished in Vigrid. Tears rolled down the sides of his face.

“It’s going to alright,” Thor repeated. “You’re going to be safe. I’m going to take care you. You just need to let go, and it’ll be okay.” And for the last time, Loki believed. His breathing slowed, and darkness clouded the corners of his eyes. It was cold here. Cold and dark, but it was quiet. And there was no pain. And there was no guilt. Only one thing left to get rid of. He closed his eyes, and Loki fell away.

***

Thor knocked on the door of room 16, the envelope heavy in his hand. A small, red-haired woman peered out. Natasha. Her face turned ashen when she saw him. Thor raised his hands.

“I’m not here to cause any trouble,” he said. “You’ve heard that Odin’s dead?” Natasha nodded.

“Good,” Thor continued. “And you know my brother Baldr? He’s dead, too.” Thor took a deep breath.

“And Loki.”

“We’d figured as much,” Natasha replied. “What do you want, Borson?”

“To tell you that it’s over,” Thor said. “Between you and my family. Which, at this point, is just me. I’m going away, and I want you people to leave me be. This wasn’t my war.”

“It’s as much your war as mine,” Natasha hissed. “It doesn’t end while Jotnar and Aesir still breathe.”

Thor sighed regretfully. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else,” he admitted. “I have something for you. Call it a truce.” He tried to hand her the envelope. Natasha made no move to take it. Frustrated, Thor laid it on the ground and slid it under the door towards her. “What is it?” she asked, taking a step away.

“Loki’s last words,” he said. “There’s a bit in there about Utgard and Vigrid. I figured you could add it to that proof your lot are always looking for. And maybe giving it to you would be enough to convince you to leave me alone.” Without looking away from him, Natasha crouched down and picked up the envelope. She opened it and pulled out two crumpled sheets of notepaper coated in messy pencil scribbles.

“A bit about Vigrid,” she repeated dryly. “That’s not much proof of anything.”

“It’s more than nothing,” Thor offered. “And probably more than Loki would have told you in person.”

“Probably,” she confessed. Thor waited a moment longer, but Natasha seemed to have nothing else to say. He turned away and started walking back towards the lobby.

“Where will you go?” she asked, stopping him mid-step. He turned, frowning. Natasha explained, “So I can tell the Red Room to stay out of there.”

Thor shrugged. “Can’t really say,” he answered honestly. “Far from here, that’s for sure.” A memory gave him pause. “There’s this place, right on the coast of Mexico. Little town with only one bar and a beach that goes for miles. I think I’ll start there. Get some rest,” he added, almost to himself. Natasha nodded and disappeared back into her room. Thor left her to her past and shadows, heading for the sunlight and the open door.


End file.
